


:D

by Mama Emeritus III (WitchImage)



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: But there's lots of sex, F/M, How Do I Tag, In Character, It has a plot but oh boy does it get porny, Porn With Plot, This is a long one, Well-Researched, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchImage/pseuds/Mama%20Emeritus%20III
Summary: Roses are redThe forest is silentAnd things around hereAre about to get violent





	1. A Fucked-Up Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> I know my summary was on point. But I figured a little more info wouldn't hurt.
> 
> This is HABIT/OC romance(?). Mostly it's a place for all my sexual frustration regarding HABIT to go. There's a plot. There's also explicit sex (lots of it) (between characters who are all over 18).
> 
> And no, Slenderman will not be sexualized. Homey don't play that way.
> 
> I'm pretty aware of the Everyman HYBRID arc (Night Mind's YouTube series about it is particularly good). So the events herein are fairly well-researched, and they occur alongside the saga. Obviously, though, I took my share of liberties.
> 
> I kinda thought...What is HABIT really up to when we don't see him on camera? When Vinny's off on his own, investigating? When Evan blacks out? I mean, sure, he's got weird god/monster stuff to do. But what if he's also got a girl?
> 
> Thus, this piece of shit was born.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. I sure as hell enjoy writing it.

Strange things happen in the woods at night.

This probably won’t surprise you—strange things can happen anywhere, technically, and there’s something especially romantic about a dark forest. It’s a place for witches’ revels, clandestine burials and weird rituals, a place for fire and shadows, wind and earth. The woods will keep your secrets. They will wrap you in their quiet arms and swallow you whole. They will bury your strange doings there.

And even among the mysterious forests that dot the planet—the Japanese suicide forest, the Red Forest near Chernobyl, Connecticut’s Dark Entry Forest—the woods behind the Penderghast family home in Maine are special. There is something out there, darker than the shadows and older than the moon. Something that lurks between the trees, a predator waiting to strike. Something that is always watching.

* * *

Autumn Penderghast is four years old the first time she enters the house. It’s an enormous Victorian, built just before the turn of last century, beautifully preserved. A piece of history with frilly white gables and a tower on the southeast corner. An architectural masterpiece and a historian’s dream. But she doesn’t notice any of this.

She bursts through the front door, squealing, her father chasing playfully just behind. She knows with the conviction of youth that this is _her_ place now, and she plans to claim every inch of it. Her mother’s laughter echoes around the empty foyer as Autumn swerves around mahogany corners and marvels at the bench before the wide picture window. It is a moment of perfection dappled in late afternoon sunlight. A scene of love and comfort, of happiness. Do not expect many scenes like it in the story that follows here.

When night falls Autumn is carried to her bedroom at the top of the Victorian’s tower. She coos sleepily at the winding staircase, at the leafy patterns in the silvery green wallpaper. Her eyelids are heavy, half-closed. It has been a long day of travel and unpacking and exploring, and the girl is spent. She nuzzles her father’s broad shoulder, smells his deodorant and sighs deeply. She is smiling as she drifts to sleep before they even enter her bedroom.

Her father places her gently into the little bed, smiles and kisses her. Her mother bids her good night as well. It’s a scene pictured easily, one of warmth and normalcy and love. It will not last.

* * *

That night marks the first visit.

Today, Autumn has very few memories of the first time she saw him. He’s been a presence, a shadow at the back of her head for so long now she can scarcely recall a time without him. But she knows they met on the first night in that new house, shortly before her fifth birthday. She knows because he told her so.

There’s a fuzzy memory, or perhaps an amalgam of many memories—it happened quite frequently over the years—of waking up in the middle of the night and going to her window. She’s small and cold, dressed in a frilly nightdress and hugging her plushie, a cartoon vampire bat. She looks out toward the dark treeline at the edge of the yard where the shadows seem to dance, alive. There’s something mystical about the view, alluring.

Autumn feels eyes on her, intent and probing. Something in those trees is looking back. She’s not afraid though. It isn’t until years later, when she starts to wonder exactly what he is, that she really, truly fears him. Instead, four-year-old Autumn gazes out curiously, trying to find the source of that watchful feeling.

A flash of white at the edge of the yard, right where the trees begin, and someone is suddenly standing there. Someone unnaturally tall and unnaturally thin, dressed in a dapper, pressed black suit. His limbs are twice as long as a normal man’s, and he’s entirely bald! Autumn giggles at the spectacle, not yet aware of how uncanny and horrifying he really looks. The wrongness of his proportions, which would make any adult extremely uncomfortable, only amuses the four year old.

She can’t make out his face. He’s too far away. But for a long, silent moment—or perhaps hour—they watch each other. Autumn is entranced. Perhaps the stranger is too.

Autumn falls asleep standing at the window. Her mother finds her in the early morning, curled up beneath it. She shrugs while she moves her daughter to bed.

The next night, and almost every night after, the stranger is back. For a solid month, Autumn’s mother finds her sleeping on the floor in the morning. When her parents finally confront her about it, Autumn explains she is looking at the “Tall Man” and points to the treeline.

“He goes over there,” she says, and thinks for a moment. “He’s really funny.”

Her mom and dad write it off as an imaginary friend and tell her to stay in bed, which she manages for exactly two nights. Soon, however, she is back at the window.

“The Tall Man is coming closer,” she tells her mom at breakfast the next morning, for indeed, last night he was halfway across the lawn. His head was tilted up at her window, but Autumn thinks something must be wrong with his face. She could not make out any features.

Her parents exchange worried glances, and the next night her father stands vigil at his own window. Autumn does, indeed, see the Tall Man that night, same as ever, back against the treeline. But her father, though watching closely, sees nothing. Comforted that this is simply a child’s active imagination, her parents attempt to ignore it into extinction. But the Tall Man’s Visits do not stop.

The following night he is back, silhouetted against the trees, and he beckons to her. Autumn shakes her head, nervous, and he tilts his head to the side in response, as if confused. He seems so nice—there is an enchanting, comforting energy about him, ancient and calm—but Autumn knows better than to go off into the woods with a stranger.

From then on, his visits escalate. He comes closer and closer to the house, close enough that she can finally make out what is wrong with his face—namely, he doesn’t have one. The flesh on his head is entirely smooth, blank and white. This startles Autumn at first, but it also makes sense. No wonder he can’t talk to her parents—he’s probably embarrassed. He probably doesn’t have any friends. That’s okay. He seems to like Autumn, and she likes him, too. His faceless face isn’t too scary—certainly, Jack Skellington from her favorite movie is creepier looking, even kind of looks like the Tall Man, and Jack Skellington is the best. So even at almost-five, Autumn knows you can’t judge a book by its cover. And she’s never been too bothered by what people call “scary” things, anyway.

She has to admit, though, the night the Tall Man shows up right at her window—his featureless face all but pressed up against the glass—she gets a little frightened. In fact, she starts crying. The Tall Man is silent, as always—just tilts his head and examines her. She can feel his eyes on her, even though he doesn’t have any, and the closeness of him, the details—those make him real.

He waits out her tears patiently, silently. Slowly, he raises one long finger to the smooth, pale flesh where his lips should be, and soon Autumn is drying her eyes. Then he beckons her with that same finger— _come with me_. And while Autumn doesn’t have the words for it, or even the concept, she feels something from the stranger in that moment. It’s a tug at the back of her head, at the very base of her brain, like he’s feeding tendrils of shadow and smoke directly into her skull. And he’s hooked something in there, in her, and he winds his influence tightly around it and _pulls_.

_Come with me_.

His voice in her head is like the rush of a waterfall, the dangerous buzz of a fallen telephone wire, the growl of a beast, the lullaby of her father. And although she’s not sure he really says _words_ —not as she knows them, anyway—she understands his message precisely, as if he just spoke aloud.

Autumn stares at him, at his paper-white skin stretched gaunt over the torturously visible bones of his skull, at his clean black suit and long, graceful fingers. All that separates them is a pane of glass, and she’d be lying if she claims his invitation isn’t tempting. His voice in her, his pull, promises magic and mystery and adventure. It promises her the moon and the dark blanket of the forest.

But, you know, all the same there’s something about it Autumn _doesn’t_ like. It’s too insistent. There’s an undercurrent of aggression in it, something malicious and sly, like the shine of a knife in the dark. She recoils against it, on some level knowing that his air of calm and gentility mask something…else. And something in Autumn, something deep-buried but as integral to her as her very soul, _pulls back_.

She moves her body physically away from him in the same instant her mind recoils, jerking back from the window. Though his voice is still in her head—still whispering _come, come, come_ …—she no longer feels the tug of his influence. She is no longer hypnotized. And Autumn realizes in horror that, while staring at his faceless face, she had opened the window, crawled up onto the sill, and started to climb into his arms.

She bounces back onto the carpet in bedroom, so startled she can’t even cry. For a second, a horrible second, his face was so close. She could see very blue vein under that paper white flesh, every shadow in the hollows where his eyes should be.  _Monster_ , something inside of her whispers, _a real monster_. And Autumn slowly raises her eyes back to him with strange reverence.

She expects fury, some kind of attack when he realizes she broke his spell. She expects the violence she can sense bubbling beneath his cold, stoic surface. But he merely stands there, his head tilted to one side, watching her with what can only be described as fascination. She realizes it's not possible for his face to be at her window—she is several stories up. Is he flying? Or has he merely grown this tall?

“Are you a monster?” she asks, her voice wavering.

_Not a monster_ , he whispers.

She can still hear him in her head, so she tries to think something back, but it doesn’t seem the telepathy works both ways. Not that Autumn knows what telepathy is. The point is, the Tall Man can plant his voice in her mind, but he now seems blocked from hypnotizing her or reading her thoughts. Autumn knows this instinctively, but will not understand for years why it is so important.

He seems to be waiting for a response, so Autumn says, “Oh.” She thinks a moment before adding, “Then how come you don’t have a face?”

The Tall Man doesn’t answer. Instead, he whispers, _Come, Autumn. So much to show you. So much to share. Magic. Adventure. Friends. Come._

“Where would we go?” Autumn asks, picking herself off the ground but hanging back from him, still wary.

_The woods._

“Mm…” Autumn glances nervously behind him at the dark forest. “I don’t know…Daddy says I could get lost in the woods.”

_I will keep you safe._

“Do you live out there?”

_I live many places. All over the world. Come. I will show you._

Autumn thinks the Tall Man is getting a little presumptuous (though she does not know that word). First he’s just talking about a stroll through the forest—now he’s saying he wants to take her travelling? It feels wrong to her, and with every word he plants in her mind, it feels worse. That voice at the back of her head keeps whispering _monster_ , despite what the Tall Man says.

“I don’t know…Maybe someday…” she says, trying to get him to leave her alone. His paper-white face and the blue veins beneath are starting to make her feel weird. Uncomfortable. Scared.

_Now_ , the Tall Man insists.

“No, I can’t,” Autumn says, inching back and hugging her plushie tightly to her chest. “I have to go back to bed now…”

“Honey?”

Autumn jolts, turning to find her father in the doorway behind her, light from the stairway silhouetting him against the frame. He looks confused, concerned, and pushes up his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Who are you talking to?” he asks. Autumn looks back to the open window.

The Tall Man is gone.

* * *

 At first, Autumn’s parents are worried, as any good parents would be. They take her to a therapist, who decides her Tall Man is nothing more than a harmless imaginary friend. And, yes, this comforts them. For a while.

But Autumn rarely sleeps at night anymore. Almost every morning for the next year and a half, her parents find her passed out under her window, or even still awake, standing there and speaking to someone they cannot see.

They switch therapists. The next one is no help, either. So they take her to a psychiatrist. She is given sleeping meds. And for a while, the problems seem rectified.

Autumn misses her Tall Man, even though he scares her. He only comes at night, and the medicine makes her sleep through his visits. She misses the movies and pictures he plants in her head. “Dreams,” she calls them, though she is awake. Or he tells her stories, tales that last hours. She can’t quite understand them, but they fascinate her. She misses those, too.

Autumn’s seventh birthday is right around the corner, and she is more adjusted now. She used to cry every time her parents made her take her sleeping pill. Now she has been told so many times that the Tall Man is imaginary, she almost believes it. Anyway, she can barely remember him. Children grow fast and forget faster. The Tall Man is nothing to her now.

But this is unacceptable to him, it seems.

Perhaps she will never know exactly what happened. But the first sign that something is wrong comes on the day she turns seven. She has a small birthday party with a few of the friends she made in kindergarten and her first couple months of first grade. In the middle of outdoor games—TAG, Red Rover, pinata—Autumn looks up to see her mother across the lawn, a few yards from the treeline. She stands still, arms stretched before her as if beckoning something, looking into the deep, dark woods.

Autumn keeps playing, only slightly bemused. Perhaps her mom spotted a deer, a bird, some other woodland creature. She disregards it and races off. But a short time later, she looks up again to see her dad there, too. He is speaking to her mother, low and quick and heated, trying to get her attention. Her mom ignores him until he grabs her arm to turn her toward him, at which point she swings around and pushes him hard in the center of the chest. He falls to the grass, confused and horrified. And Autumn’s mom turns back to the woods to stare.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, with slow, even steps, she walks toward the trees and disappears inside.

Autumn’s dad attempts to hide his concern, but she can see it written in the lines of his face. He acts as if nothing is wrong, continuing the party. Presents are opened, cake is eaten, and her friends go home. That night, he puts Autumn to bed and promises her mom will be back soon.

When, on the following day, her mom has still not returned, Autumn’s father calls the cops. The search lasts 12 hours. Police officers, neighbors, dogs—all of them scour the woods behind the Penderghast property. They find nothing. Not a footprint, not a broken tree branch. Nothing to indicate the presence of Natalie Penderghast. It is as if she was spirited away, lifted up and torn from this world by pale hands.

Autumn’s dad, Brian, ramps near hysterics the longer it goes on, clinging to his daughter desperately. Darkness falls with no sign of her. Autumn sits silent in the kitchen, watching out the back window, as they return to the house to discuss further plans. It is too late to look, and perimeters will have to be widened. Talk of the forest search and rescue team are underway, plans to continue tomorrow as soon as the sun rises. It is cold at night, and they worry Natalie will not survive the elements if she is out there for much longer.

The police are about to leave, promising to be back first thing tomorrow, when Autumn spots a pale figure moving out of the woods and walking across the family’s lawn.

“Mommy!” she cries, leaping up and flying out the back door. Her father follows, eyes red with tears, trailed by an entourage of boys in blue. Autumn sprints across the grass and flings herself into her mother’s cold arms.

“Hello, baby,” Natalie coos, stroking Autumn’s silky black hair. She lifts her up, burying her face in her daughter’s neck. And just before Brian and the cops reach them, Autumn hears her whisper, “I met your friend.”

And so Autumn’s mother returns home, leaves in her hair and burs in her clothes but otherwise unharmed. She waves off the concern, maintaining she merely took a walk after an argument with her husband and decided to camp a few miles off trail for the night. Brian is not satisfied. He asks her, so many times that night and in the days after, what really happened. But Natalie’s lips are sealed.

She is changed. Autumn can see it. Brian can, too. She is quieter than she once was, always off in her own head. She hums strange songs that Autumn seems to remember from somewhere and goes for long walks in the woods. She always comes home though.

* * *

 One night, a few weeks after her disappearance and return, Natalie brings her daughter her customary sleeping pill. She sits on the edge of her bed and proffers one to the child. Autumn reaches for it, obedient, but with a sly smile, her mother simply shakes her head and crushes the pill between her fingers. She flicks the dust into the crack between the wall and Autumn’s bed.

“No more of these,” she says. “He doesn’t want you to have them anymore.”

“Who?” Autumn asks. “Daddy?”

“Not daddy,” Natalie replies. “Our friend. Our Tall Stranger.”

Autumn, confused and scared, slides into her mother’s lap. Her mom wraps her arms around her, rocking her gently.

“You talk to him too, Mommy?”

“I do,” Natalie whispers. “He came to me. He wants you back, Autumn. He says you’re a very special little girl.”

“Is that where you were when you went into the woods?”

“Yes, baby,” Natalie says. “He took me into the woods, and beyond the woods. There is a beautiful castle there. He showed me. He wants to show you.”

“I don’t wanna go with him,” Autumn replies, her voice shaking.

“Why not?” Natalie’s voice hardens, and her arms around the child become vice-like. “Why would you reject him like that?”

“He’s bad,” Autumn whispers, her heart thundering in her ears as her mother continues to squeeze her.

“ _No_ ,” Natalie hisses, pushing her daughter back by arms length to examine her face. She shakes the small girl, her eyes narrow and empty of love. “He is not _bad_ , you stupid child.”

Autumn begins to cry. The woman holding her, shaking her, looking at her with such hatred...This is not her mother. Natalie scoffs in disgust and pushes Autumn back onto her bed, then stands.

“No more sleeping pills,” she says, her voice hard, gazing down at the terrified girl. “You will talk to him tonight, and you will remember why you love him. Why _we_ love him. Understand?”

Crying, Autumn nods. Her mother, satisfied, heads toward the bedroom door. She opens it, then pauses, turning back to her daughter.

“And baby?” she says. “If you don’t go with him on your own...I will _make_ you.”

Natalie leaves the room. Autumn cries into her pillow until she falls asleep.

She is woken by a tapping at the window. Sitting up, Autumn gazes through the darkness, her heart pounding in mingled fear and excitement. It’s been so long…

She stands and makes her way to the window, pausing for only a second before slowly sliding apart the curtains. She knows what she will see there, but it still makes her jump. He stands, his head level with the third story window, blank white face pressed up against the glass. Behind him, Autumn sees a network of strange black tentacles raised around his head, poised to strike. They seem to extend from his back, but they move like living things, swaying back and forth, tracing her movements. She’s never seen those before. The sound in her head is like the rattle of a snake.

_Autumn_ , she hears from him, feels his presence pushing into her mind. Once again, however, it is blocked from getting too deep. A bit older now, a bit wiser, Autumn distinctly feels the boundaries in her head which keep him out, like a wall around her brainstem. He can still plant his words inside, his pictures and movies. But he cannot hear her thoughts. And, most importantly, he cannot possess her. He cannot control her the way he controls her mother.

_Autumn, Autumn...let me in…_

He has to resort to persuasion, pleading. And Autumn is sure that soon he will resort to more desperate measures.

“Hello,” Autumn whispers, placing her hand to the glass of the windowpane.

_I missed you_ , the Tall Man whispers in her head. _I have your mother now. She is with me. She will be with you. Come with us._

“I can’t,” Autumn says. “I’m sorry. Not tonight.” The snake rattle increases in intensity, in anger, and the Tall Man’s tentacles vibrate rapidly, ready to strike. Autumn gasps and steps back from him.

_When?_ he demands.

“I don’t...I don’t know…” The fear is clear in her voice. As if he senses this, the Tall Man goes still. His tentacles retreat, disappear, and he seems to calm himself. But Autumn doesn’t think he’s safe. In fact, she thinks he’s only attempting not to scare her because he knows she will run if he does.

_I am patient_ , he says. _For you, my Autumn...Endlessly patient...Special, special girl…_

“That’s good,” Autumn whispers. She doesn’t want to see his tentacles again. She doesn’t want to anger him.

_So tonight_ , the Tall Man whispers, his voice like the rustle of dead leaves, _let me show you a story_.

* * *

That is only the beginning. In the months that follow, Autumn doesn’t take sleeping meds anymore. Her mother has made sure of that.

And so the pattern starts again. The Tall Man visits her nearly every night, whispering to her, beckoning. But it seems that he is, in fact, endlessly patient. He tries so hard to be careful, gentle. Every so often, his mask will crack, and Autumn will sense the vicious creature beneath. But she rather likes it when he comes. He fascinates her. He scares her, but he fascinates her. And she likes the attention. Everything she says and does is considered carefully, weighed and responded to. He treats her like her every thought is important, something a child of seven is not used to in adults. He makes her feel special. He certainly tells her she is. She thinks, as time goes by, that perhaps his inability to control her has something to do with that.

She does not speak of him to her mother. But the woman is clearly infatuated. Unbeknownst to Autumn, Brian becomes convinced his wife is having an affair. He follows her at night, through the woods. But her suitor is clearly clever. He never catches them. Never even sees the other man.

Seasons pass. Every night, the Tall Man’s requests are repeated. Every night, Autumn declines. Every night, he tells her she will trust him soon. And with every night that goes by, Autumn thinks he might be right.

He hasn’t hurt her, after all. Her mom is weird, but she’s not hurt either. He hasn’t threatened her. He hasn’t tried to carry her into the woods again. It seems he wants it to be her choice. And the things he shows her...Those are beautiful.

Her mother wants her to give in to his siren song. She whispers at night about how it will be to live with him in his castle in the forest, to fly with him by night through a star-pricked sky. They will be together, she says, and they can leave the world behind. It would be a lie to say Autumn isn’t tempted.

* * *

On Autumn’s 8th birthday, exactly a year to the day her mother met the Tall Man, the world crumbles around her.

There is no party this year. Her father, gray and more worn than he was 12 months ago, seems too sad and distracted to even consider one. Her mother doesn’t remember her birthday at all. Their family is dissolving, and it is especially evident today. Autumn opens one present, a book from her father, and eats a slice of burnt cake from the box in their filthy kitchen. Her mother is absent, wandering the woods again.

Autumn goes to bed by herself, weeping weakly, leaving her father in the living room to stare at the flickering TV. She hates the Tall Man, she decides tonight. Hates him for what he did to her mother, and by association her father. Though his promises tug at the back of her mind, she decides she will _never_ go with him. Not willingly. He destroys lives without even really entering them. He is evil, and she is more sure of this than ever. She will reject him. She will never speak to him again.

Autumn closes her curtains forcefully, then collapses against her tear-stained pillow and drifts slowly off into fitful dreams.

She is awoken a few hours later by a crash from downstairs. Something is thrown to the floor in the kitchen, and the shatter of glass is enough to make her bolt up in bed, wide awake. Raised voices drift up the stairs—her mother, shrieking. Her father answering back in an angry, husky voice. But that _is_ odd. They never yell at each other. Not even over this last year.

Quietly, Autumn creeps out of her room and down the stairs. She pauses on the steps and crouches, making herself small, as the fight moves into the living room. She sees her mother now, hysterical, backing into the room and yelling at her father. Clenched in her fist is a kitchen knife, which she brandishes viciously, striking out to keep her pursuer at bay.

Her father steps into the living room after her. He looks calm—calmer than the situation dictates—and his chin is tilted low, his eyes mean. He smiles at Natalie, following her every step, his arms casually hanging at his sides. He is not wearing his glasses.

“Give it here,” he says, gesturing for the knife, and there is something wrong with his voice. It’s too deep, too raspy, and it distorts in the air around him, like many voices at once, all speaking together. Natalie lashes out again, nearly cutting his outstretched hand, but he evades the attack easily.

“Aw, come _on_ , Natalie,” he says, and the reasonable tone is offset by his guttural growl—so different from her father’s smooth, gentle voice. “Whatcha tryin’ to do? Huh? What’s your _game plan_ , here?” He follows her slowly around the living room’s perimeter, still smiling.

“He wants her!” Natalie cries, her voice ragged. “You can’t stop me!” She edges backwards toward the stairs, still not having caught sight of her daughter between the bannister railings.

But her father does. His eyes flick over, and Autumn sees him notice her. But instead of the look of concern she expects, the horror that his beloved child is witness to this terrible scene, her father’s smile simply widens. He grins toothily, feral, vicious….amused. Then his eyes return to his wife.

“ _Stop_ you?” Brian says, a hand to his chest. “I’m not _tryin_ ’ to stop you. Am I?” He shakes his head, smiling. “Nah...Nah, I just got some questions for ya, that’s all.” His smile drops away in an instant, and the next words are a growl. “So gimme the fuckin’ knife.”

“Your questions?” Natalie replies, her voice shaking. She doesn’t hand the weapon over, but she lowers it slightly.

“Ah,” Brian says, stopping in his tracks and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, right to the point, I like it. You don’t fuck around, do ya?” He grins, nodding, and when she doesn't reply, he continues. “Okay, uh, my questions. Well, let's see here, I guess we could start with, uh, first of all— _Why_?” He watches Natalie, dark eyes glittering, and they don’t look like Autumn’s dad’s eyes, not at all. “Why does your...what d’ya call him, your _Tall Stranger_?” He chuckles cruelly. “Yeah. Cute fuckin’ nickname there, Nat. You think you know him pretty well, right? Long talks, walks in the park, spillin’ your goddamn _guts_ to each other? _Right_? Sure. Sure you have. So has he told you _why_ he’s so fuckin’ interested in your _precious little baby_?”

Natalie stops, confused by the question. The man who is not Autumn’s dad, but who is inhabiting his body, notices.

“Hm? No? That one too hard for ya?” He chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. He hasn’t _told_ you, has he? All you know, in that confused, insectoid little brain of yours, is that he wants her. And for you, that’s enough. Or...Or lemme guess, he _promised_ you shit, right? Power. Magic. A happy little life together? Hm? Am I right?”

Stiffly, Natalie nods. The knife droops in her hand, her grip loose, her eyes cloudy and confused.

“Yeah,” Brian says, tone dripping with scorn. “Yeah, I sure as shit hope he did, darlin’. Promised you the goddamn moon, right? Saw into your head, into all those dark, dirty little corners and told you _exactly_ what you wanted. What your...deepest dreams involve, all that guilty desire." He snickers. "You ate that shit up. And who can blame ya? What else would be enough to sacrifice your own fuckin’ daughter?”

“It’s not a sacrifice,” Natalie whispers weakly.

“Uh, well _that_ is where you’re fuckin’ wrong,” Brian, or whatever is speaking through him, says. He tilts his head at Natalie, smiling. “Fuckin’ idiot. Not a sacrifice...What—what exactly do ya think it is? You think he just wants to...what, take your little girl to the park? Go get some pizza at Chuck E. fuckin’ Cheese? You proxies…” He shakes his head, looking away from Natalie in disgust. “Eh. Don’t wanna spoil the surprise. What I wanna know...what I’m _here_ for...is _why_?” He meets her eye again, raising his eyebrows. “What’s so special...about Autumn?”

“I don’t...know…” Natalie says, and she seems to become aware of this fact for the first time ever. She furrows her brows, the knife in her hand forgotten.

“ _Really_ ,” Brian says dryly. Then he sneers. “Not even a hint?”

“He just said she’s...special, that’s all. Just special.”

“Yer fuckin’ useless,” Brian growls, almost to himself. He is clearly frustrated, shoulders slumped, eyes moving back and forth across the room. They land on Autumn again, still hunched over herself on the stairs, and a vicious smile suddenly splits his lips. “I got an idea,” he says. “Let’s ask _her_.”

Natalie whips around, panicked, and spots Autumn on the stairs. Before anyone has time to react, she is sprinting toward her daughter, scooping her up in her arms and carrying her upstairs. Below them, the stranger with her father’s face groans.

“Seriously?” he calls. “We were havin’ a conversation!”

Natalie is crying as she races with her daughter into the master bedroom, pausing only to slam and lock the door. She deposits Autumn on the bed and rushes to the window, throwing it open.

“Help!” she calls out into the night. “Help me!”

For a moment, Autumn has hope that her mom is legitimately calling for the neighbors, or any passersby, though this deep in the country there is little chance of that.

Then Natalie cries, “Come! I have her! Take us!” And Autumn realizes what is really happening. Her mother is trying to summon the Tall Man.

Autumn shrinks back as Natalie approaches her again, still holding the knife. The woman looks crazed, half-hysterical, and gazes at her daughter with eyes no mother should have. The Tall Man has not appeared—not in the room, not in the yard. And now the thing wearing Brian’s skin slams himself bodily against the bedroom door.

“ _Natalie_ ,” he calls from outside, sing-song, his voice distorting demonically. “ _Let me **iiiin**_.”

“Come to us!” Natalie screams toward the window again. And again, she is met with nothing but silence.

“ _He can’t help you_ ,” Brian’s distorted voice says through the wood of the door. “ _Can’t even fuckin’ **hear** you_.” He slams into the door again with preternatural force. The wood groans in its frame. “ _I have a few tricks of my own, Nat. Your **Tall Stranger** ain’t fuckin’ comin’_.” He pounds against the door again, and Autumn hears the wood begin to crack. “ _So let. Me. **In**!_ ”

Another slam. Another crack, and Autumn sees hairline fissures form in the wood around the hinges. Natalie spins on her daughter, eyes wild, some mad light shining behind them.

“I won’t let that _thing_ take you,” she rasps. Autumn is almost comforted, until she continues. “You belong to _him_. And if he can’t have you…” Slowly, she raises the knife in her fist. “No one can.”

Autumn screams. Her mother pounces at her. She covers her face in her hands, waiting for the cut. She wonders fleetingly how much it will hurt. She wonders what death will be like.

And then the door is blown off its hinges, and the thing in her father’s skin barrels through. Autumn catches a glimpse of his face, manic and bright, the shine of his white teeth in that excited smile. He is on her mother in an instant, dragging her away. They tumble to the floor, the knife glinting as it arches out, cutting her father’s face in long, jagged slash. Brian ignores the cut, straddling his wife and wrapping his strong hands around her throat. It cuts off her screams, and she flails, gasping.

Then she drives the knife up and straight into her husband’s chest. It’s enough to stop any assault. Autumn’s world bends and cracks around her, pulse thundering in her ears. She expects to watch her father tip back and fall to the floor, dead. But that doesn’t happen.

Whatever is pretending to be Brian doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t react to the wound in any way. In fact, he starts laughing, deep and guttural. The knife is nothing to him. It couldn’t be clearer that he’s having quite a lot of fun.

Autumn starts screaming as her father’s hands tighten around her mother’s neck. Natalie’s eyes bulge out grotesquely, and she chokes, gasps, claws at his fingers, her hands slick with his blood. Then there is a _snap_. The sound of tendons breaking and bone fracturing. Autumn goes silent. Her mother goes still.

The monster climbs off Autumn’s mother, breathing heavily, still smiling. He regains his feet and meets the young girl’s eyes. The knife is still in his chest, sticking out crookedly. Blood gushes from the wound there with every beat of his heart. His face is covered in sticky red scarlet, the cut there deforming his eye, his cheek. Her mother is still not moving, her head turned at an unnatural angle. Autumn cannot bring herself to look any closer.

The stranger in her dad’s skin takes one halting step toward the bed, and Autumn cowers in terror. Then, as if hearing a call from outside, his head twitches up toward the window, and he growls.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, staring out into the night. Then he chuckles, points at Autumn. “He’s keepin’ a close eye on you, kid. Not even my little distraction kept him away for long…”

Autumn turns, and her heart leaps, but she’s not sure if she should be relieved. The Tall Man is visible through the open window, standing back by the treeline. Watching.

“I _assume_ ,” the thing that is not Brian says, tilting his head at Autumn, “you don’t know anything, either.” The child shakes her head quickly. “Nah. Didn’t fuckin’ think so.” His gaze lifts to the window again, and a smile tilts his lips. “Wonder if he’d just tell me. Didn’t, uh...Didn’t think to ask…” He shrugs. “We’re not on the best terms right now.” He looks at Autumn as though waiting for a response, and when she is silent, he barks a laugh. “Well! Gotta go! I have a...meeting with a _Tall Stranger_.” He laughs again and nudges her mother’s body with his foot. “Have fun with this fuckin’ mess. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”

Then...something happens. Autumn’s father throws his head back, and his mouth opens in a silent scream, and something...Something invisible, but as tangible as a hurricane, flows from his body and out into the night. At the same moment, the Tall Man disappears, too.

Brian is still standing there, but whatever used to inhabit his body is gone. Autumn looks at her father, traumatized, and watches the man she knew come back. He reaches up, sucking in a wheeze, to fumble pathetically with the knife buried deep in his chest. His hands come away bloody, and then his eyes, sad and horrified and full of pain, meet hers.

“Autumn…” his voice is breathy, barely there. He reaches out to his daughter. He manages one step toward the bed.

Then her father falls to the ground and dies.

* * *

 They find her in the morning, still huddled in her parents’ bed. Their bodies lay tangled at the foot of it, blood staining the white carpet. Autumn is wide-eyed and tear streaked, rocking back and forth, her hands over her ears. The cops take her gently by the hand and lead her from that place.

She never returns.


	2. Golden Years

The next few years are a blur. Orphanages, schools, therapists, psychiatrists, foster families. She’s never in one place for long. The system does not particularly like her, this misplaced child who witnessed her parents kill each other. And Autumn, rebellious by nature, hates it right back.

She turns out relatively well-adjusted, all things considered. She is grateful for the therapy, for whatever kindness she finds. She grows into a young lady, slim and pale but with a mind of her own. She resists authority but doesn’t get into any real trouble. She sneaks out a lot, from wherever she happens to be, and she smokes and drinks and finds comfort in boys. But she never gets arrested, never does drugs harder than pot. Overall, her various caretakers consider her a success story. And with such trauma in her past, that is really rather remarkable.

But Autumn is a girl with secrets. And she has learned how to keep them. She has learned what to bury and what to let out. She is very good at what she does.

It takes a few years before he returns. But when Autumn is 13, the Tall Man finds her again.

The story is much the same as it ever was. It starts with a sighting through a window at night—this time he is standing between the buildings across the street. And every night he comes closer, testing, waiting. Autumn allows this—in truth, what else can she do?--but she never trusts him again. He seems to know that.

He does not speak to her, however. He seems to know that getting too close will cause her to flee. But she feels his eyes on her frequently, catches sight of him in the dark of the night. Otherwise, he does very little to interfere. It would seem he is content to watch, to wait. Maybe, Autumn thinks, he is waiting for her to come to him. To get so curious, she approaches or opens herself up.

_Fat fucking chance_.

* * *

 In 2009, when Autumn is 20 and just finishing her sophomore year of college, the Tall Man disappears from her world again. She’s not sure why. Maybe he’s distracted.

He has a fanbase now, after all.

See, that same year, the first picture of him is posted to the internet. Autumn almost can’t believe it when she sees it, but the proof is in the pudding. The photo shows a park, a group of happy children...and him, standing in the background, watching. She’s almost impressed. All these years, and she never thought to whip out her camera and snap a few shots. This intrepid photographer is much cleverer.

The internet, as it will sometimes, explodes around him. Suddenly he is everywhere—pictures, videos, stories, games, fucking _fanart_ . They call him the Slenderman, and frankly he seems to be a bit of a camera whore. She can’t imagine he doesn’t love the attention. So many new and willing eyes and bodies. So much energy, _worship_ even, all channeled directly at him. He’s got to be in paradise.

Theories abound on his true nature. Is he a ghost? A demon? A god? She thinks the latter is probably closer to the truth, though honestly she has no fucking clue. She follows him online, vaguely interested, knowing she should keep away but unable to help herself. The stories are scary, and while you can’t tell how many of them are real, she thinks there’s enough truth out there to get the picture. She thinks the set of rules his fans have built around him are probably accurate—what he does, when he appears. Everyone agrees he is bad news, with the exception of a surprisingly large group of mostly-teenaged girls who actually want to _sleep_ with him. How that would go, Autumn can’t imagine. But fuck it. Let them have their fantasies.

Anyway, his absence is for the best. It can’t be said Autumn _misses_ the Tall Man when he disappears. In fact, she hopes it’s for good this time. But...well. It’s odd, but she _feels_ his absence. Like some kind of void in her life. Something he once occupied, filled, and now leaves empty. But it’s not like he’s been particularly active in her world for the last seven years. She would simply catch sight of him once or twice a week—across the street, out her window, standing by the road as she drove. He didn’t _bring_ anything to her, never so much as spoke to her again. So she’s not sure what the empty feeling is about. Perhaps it’s just a lack of closure. Or perhaps it’s as simple as losing her connection with some other realm or world. He is her one link to the mystical, and now he is gone.

But he is also a monster. So. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

From then on, Autumn focuses on being a normal college kid. She’s _not_ normal, she knows that, but she _feels_ more normal than she ever has. It feels good. It feels like she no longer has to carry a huge secret. When people ask about her parents, she keeps the details of their deaths vague. She makes friends in classes and smiles when people greet her. She gravitates toward goth rock and black clothes, she has more than a few tattoos and wears too much eyeliner, but she also laughs and parties and goofs around. She’s alternative, not tortured, and there’s a _huge_ fucking difference. And no one has to know it used to be the other way around.

* * *

 

At the beginning of her junior year, Autumn meets a guy named Blake in a 400 level English-Lit course. He’s tall and cool and gorgeous, and she instantly forms a burning crush. The fact that he has a girlfriend prevents her from making any moves, but it doesn’t prevent them from growing close.

After a couple weeks, Blake introduces her to his small group of good friends. There’s Bernadette, sweet and clever. Elizabeth, strong-willed and sarcastic. Jackson, funny and street-wise. And Aaron. Most importantly, there’s Aaron.

They all click instantly. And suddenly, for the first time in her life, Autumn has a group to call her own.

The next few months are blissful. The six of them are young, cool and free. There are parties and alcohol and, occasionally, drugs. There is laughter and deep discussion and inside jokes. And there is love. Most importantly, between all of them, there is love.

On New Years Eve, just before the dawn of 2010, the six friends attend a huge party at a local frat house. The Greek system usually isn’t their scene, but they are told the drinks will be free and positively flowing. Truth be told, Autumn is excited for it. She’s so used to wine nights in Dette’s apartment or going out to local dive bars with Blake and Jackson, a gigantic party sounds refreshing.

They arrive and proceed to get blind drunk on free beer. After a couple hours, the six of them have split up, interacting with other people, having fun, occasionally finding each other in the crowd, as friends will. Autumn notices Aaron has been tailing her throughout the night, and it makes her smile. Aaron is rather sexy, she thinks, with his long, dark hair and clever eyes. She’s got a thing for Blake, sure, but he’s unavailable—though he and his girlfriend seem to be fighting a lot recently.

Aaron, however, is single. He is uncomplicated and sweet and funny. Autumn likes him. And he seems to _really_ like Autumn.

When a large group of partiers gather to watch the clock and countdown to the new year, Autumn grabs Aaron’s hand and raises her glass to him, grinning. He grins back. And when the clock strikes twelve and everyone cheers, Aaron pulls her close and kisses her.

They are together after that, a transition so natural and easy, it almost seems like an act of fate. Autumn and Aaron, power-couple of their little group. The others take it in stride. Blake breaks up with his girlfriend and drunkenly laments once or twice that he didn’t ask Autumn out first, but she doesn’t take it seriously. The bonds between the six of them are too deep to be shaken by interpersonal dynamics like that. Blake is happy for them, and they all think that perhaps she and Aaron could really work out.

And so, for the first time in her life, Autumn finds herself falling in love.

* * *

 A couple weeks after the New Years party, Autumn wakes with a start around 3 AM and sits up. The room is dark, shadowed, the drawn curtains of the window across from her letting in only a sliver of moonlight. Reaching over, Autumn finds Aaron’s warm body and places her hand on his back, irrationally relieved when she feels him breathing gently in sleep. She sighs. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. But she is.

There’s something about the atmosphere in the room. Something heavy and...different. They’re at Autumn’s place tonight, a tiny third-floor studio in the middle of the university district, a place she is deeply familiar with. There’s no reason to feel creeped out, she tells herself.

All the same, it’s almost like...Almost like someone else was just in the room. Like someone just walked out the door—she can practically smell his lingering cologne, hear his footsteps receding.

Quickly, not wanting to wake Aaron, Autumn slides out of bed and pads across the floor to make sure the front door is secured. Sure enough—locked and chained. She checks the tiny kitchen—also empty. Letting out a huff of air, Autumn pushes a hand through her dark hair and shakes her head. Must’ve been one hell of a dream. She turns and starts back toward the bed.

Still...the nervousness isn’t going away. And now she feels...watched. More than that—the eyes she feels on her are familiar.

Gasping, Autumn spins on her heel to face the curtained window.

“No way,” she whispers. “No fucking way.” The _bastard_. If he’s back in her life...if he ruins this for her…

Autumn stomps toward the window and throws the curtain aside, gazing out onto the dark city street below. She squints, searching for what she hopes she won't see—a tall black silhouette, topped by a ghastly white face. He’s there, she knows it, she can feel it. After more than a year, the Tall Man is back.

Her eyes scan the shadows between buildings, on roofs, under trees. Nothing, nothing, nothing...maybe she’s just jumpy. Maybe she just had a nightmare, and everything’s fine, and he’s not back at all…

A sudden movement draws her eyes. Autumn looks down to the concrete directly below her, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window, and almost jumps out of her skin.

He’s down there, three floors below, his smooth white head tilted to look up at her.

The world seems to swim around her as soon as her eyes lock onto his featureless face. She can feel his gaze from here, intense and direct. His pull is stronger than ever...or perhaps she’s so used to his absence, she forgot what it was like. She hopes that’s the case. She hopes he hasn’t gotten more powerful. The implications of that are horrifying.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t plant words in her head. Just waits and stares. And as if he is a magnet to her needle, she can’t help but stare back.

“Autumn?”

“Shit!” Autumn yelps, jerking back from the window and turning around. Aaron is sitting up in bed, looking concerned, his shoulder-length hair tangled and messy in that way she finds so endearing.

“Babe?” he says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You okay?”

Autumn regains her breath, manages a weak smile, and glances back down to the sidewalk. In true form, the Tall Man is gone.

“Yeah,” she says, laughing breathlessly. “Yeah. Sorry, just...just thought I heard something outside.”

“Come here,” he replies, smiling that crooked grin she loves. “It’s lonely without you.”

“Okay,” Autumn says. She closes the curtains, trying not to be worried.

But as she climbs into bed and Aaron puts his arms around her and pulls her close, Autumn can’t help but dwell upon the only question that really matters now—Why is he back?

* * *

 At first, it seems there’s nothing to worry about. The Tall Man is up to his usual tricks, watching her from a distance. Sure, she sees him almost every night, so the frequency is a bit higher than usual, but he doesn’t seem to be doing anything different. None of her friends ever see him. Perhaps he really is benign. She doesn’t even want to hope that’s the case, but she does.

Then one night, a month later, Autumn once again wakes up with a start at 3 AM. Sitting up in bed, groaning, she reaches over for Aaron’s warm, comforting body...only to find empty sheets.

Autumn’s heart starts pounding. _It’s okay_ , she tells herself. _Don’t freak out. Maybe he’s in the bathroom_.

But the bathroom door is open, and the room is dark. Empty. The bedroom as well. Autumn shakily slides out of bed. She feels the Tall Man’s eyes on her even now, feels his strange presence, as if he was just in the room. Like the charge in the air around a downed power line. But he’s not here. And more importantly, neither is her boyfriend.

Quickly, Autumn strides to the kitchen door to check the final room in her tiny apartment. Peeking around the corner, she lets out a huge sigh.

“Aaron.”

He is standing at the window, gazing out onto the dark city, and he does not turn when she calls.

“Jesus,” Autumn says, laughing and stepping toward him. “Baby, you scared the shit out of me.”

No response. Aaron doesn’t even turn toward her, his eyes fixated on some distant point in the night. His hands hang limply at his sides, his chin tilted down against his chest.

“Baby?” she tries again, hearing the waver in her own voice. She reaches him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Finally, as if waking from a dream, Aaron snaps out of his daze. He turns toward her, surprised.

“Autumn,” he says. “Uh...hey.”

“Hey,” she replies, narrowing her eyes, trying to keep her tone light. “Whatcha doing, love?”

“Uh…” He looks nervous, sweaty and pale, and his eyes flick toward the window again. “Just...uh, just looking at the lights.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck—a sure sign that he is lying. “Couldn’t sleep.” His eyes flick toward the window again.

“Uh huh,” Autumn says flatly. She follows his gaze, and honestly, she’s not expecting to see anything. Maybe he sleepwalks, she thinks, and he’s confused or embarrassed. She hopes that’s it, anyway.

But her eyes find the Tall Man almost immediately. He’s standing on a rooftop across the street, facing them squarely, his white face so blatant against the night sky she can’t imagine _not_ seeing him. Her heart drops to somewhere in the vicinity of her feet.

“Let’s...go back to bed,” she says, taking Aaron’s arm. He allows Autumn to steer him into the other room, shuffling like a man hypnotized, and falls into bed with an air of unfathomable exhaustion. He is asleep in seconds.

Autumn, meanwhile, lies awake for hours, until the sun creeps between the curtains and the morning birds start their songs.

She wants to believe it’s no big deal. That maybe Aaron was sleepwalking, or if he did see the Tall Man, it doesn’t mean anything. But then she remembers her mother. And she realizes she can’t be stupid about this, or naive. Despite not wanting it to be the case, there’s really only one reason the Tall Man would appear to Aaron.

To get to her.

* * *

 In the weeks that follow, Autumn watches Aaron closely for any signs of the Tall Man’s influence. But he seems...normal. He’s not acting strange or obsessive like her mother did. He doesn’t try to harm or lead her into danger. She doesn’t think he even sees the Tall Man again. And she doesn’t know if that’s comforting or scary.

She’s not sure what to do. Part of her—the careful, logical part—thinks maybe she should leave him. Leave everyone. Drop out of college and move across the country. She’s cursed, she knows that, and it’s dangerous to be around her. The idea of her friends meeting the same fate as her parents is the most awful thing she can imagine.

On the other hand, she’s scared. Terrified. How do you leave a life behind? How do you leave your love behind? She’s not strong enough. She’s too selfish.

And she keeps hoping against hope...maybe it was nothing.

So Autumn stays. She and Aaron continue to date. She continues to go to class and see her friends and act as if she does not see the Tall Man every night, across the street, staring at her without eyes.

Then Halloween comes along.

* * *

 “What the hell are you supposed to be?” Liz’s tone is flat and sarcastic. Autumn laughs and looks down at her costume—a short black poncho, showing off her fish-netted legs, emblazoned with two large red hands on either side of her chest. She sewed those on herself. She’s pretty proud of it.

“Sexy Manos,” she says, taking the glass of wine Bernadette, dressed as a skeleton, proffers her from the couch. Blake, across the room, snorts. He’s in a tophat and tails, taking the “fancy dress” idea to its extreme.

“Sexy _what_?” Liz shoots back. She’s in a tight red dress and horns—classic devil.

“Manos!” Autumn say. “Like...from that terrible B movie, _Manos: The Hands of Fate_. The bad guy.”

Liz gives her a flat, questioning look, and Blake points his cane at her.

“No one’s gonna get it,” he says, and considers. “You do look good, though.”

“Where’s Aaron?” Autumn asks reflexively. She always brings up Aaron when Blake starts getting flirty.

“No idea,” Bernadette says. “He was supposed to meet up an hour ago.”

“He’s supposed to be dressed up as one of my wives,” Autumn says, feeling like she might start fucking _pouting_. Aaron’s not a dick, but he’s been MIA all day, and she’s not sure whether to be worried or angry.

“He’ll meet us there,” Blake replies confidently. “I talked to him a while ago. He’s probably just finishing up homework or something. He knows where we’ll be.” He offers his arm to Liz in a dapper way, and rolling her eyes, she accepts it. “We should get going.”

Against her better judgement, Autumn follows them out of Dette’s apartment and down to the street. They start walking toward the house party a few blocks down—some friends of Jackson’s—sipping whiskey from Blake’s flask and laughing. Autumn tells herself Aaron is fine and starts to get into the swing of it. Halloween is her favorite holiday—a dickish boyfriend is not going to ruin that for her.

The house is packed, the party in full swing. Around every corner is a painted face, an elaborate costume. There is laughing and screaming and pounding music. Autumn looks everywhere for Aaron, but when an hour passes and he doesn’t appear or answer her texts, she turns her phone off and grabs another beer. She’s going to get wasted and have fun despite him.

Another hour passes. Autumn steps out onto the back patio amidst a crowd of students and lights a cigarette. Blake was right—no one gets her costume. But that doesn’t matter—she likes it.

She turns to look into the house, watching the people inside dance and talk and play beer pong, and she smiles, tipping her beer to her lips. Then the front door across the living room is thrown open, and Aaron stumbles inside, looking around.

At first, Autumn is relieved. He’s not wearing a costume, dressed in his usual black t-shirt and jeans, but at least he’s _here_. She raises her hand at him. But when their eyes lock, he lurches toward her, and she sees how wild he looks, how blank. She sees the sweat beading on his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes. The leaves and twigs in his long brown hair.

Acting on an instinct from somewhere deep inside her, something she can’t seem to access but something strong, Autumn drops her drink and spins on her heel. She strides away from him quickly, starting to jog as she moves across the lawn, then speeding up faster when she nears the line of trees behind the backyard. She doesn’t know why, but a voice in her head is screaming _RUN_ and she has no choice but to listen.

Run...Run from Aaron?

Autumn slows, stumbles, almost gets to the trees. She needs a second, just one second. She needs to think. She feels like a rabbit fleeing from a wolf, but this is _Aaron_! She _loves_ Aaron! She’s never loved anyone more.

_RUN_.

Autumn lurches forward again, trying to get her feet beneath her, trying to calm her shaky breath. Then a strong hand is laid on her arm, gripping with bruising force, and she is spun around to look into Aaron’s dark, shadowy eyes.

_This is not Aaron_ , that strange voice in her head says, that deep, instinctual feeling.

But it _is!_  She can see that, clear as day.

He doesn’t smile at her. His mouth hangs slack, his eyes dark, eclipsed by something...else. But his hands are strong as he grabs her and pulls her with him, into the dark woods.

“Aaron?” Autumn says, and she hates how her voice sounds—scared and shaking and absolutely pitiful. “Baby, where...what are you doing?”

He doesn’t respond. She tries to pull out of grip, but it is vice-like.

“Aaron!” she yells, then looks behind her at the house party only a hundred yards away. The lights are rapidly losing themselves behind a blanket of trees, but she can still hear people, still see a few milling about on the lawn. “Hey!” she screams, unable to believe she’s actually about to call out for help, but Aaron swings around and presses a firm hand against her mouth.

“Shush,” he says, pulling her into his chest. For a second, Autumn is comforted. Then Aaron speaks again. “You’re such a special girl.”

Dread settles in Autumn’s chest. She pulls away from her boyfriend, gazes up into his face with wide, horrified eyes.

“Aaron,” she says, half-crying.

“You will go to him,” Aaron says. His voice is flat, robotic. He gazes at her with blank eyes, loveless and cold. Eyes she’s never seen in his face. “I will take you.”

Aaron reaches out quickly to grab her again, but Autumn leaps away and somehow manages to evade his grasping fingers. Then she is off, sprinting through the woods, mindless of the branches smacking against her legs, ripping her costume, tangling in her hair. She is gasping and crying and panting, and she hears Aaron behind her, gaining on her, completely silent besides his boots thumping against the packed earth.

Autumn takes a sharp left turn, hoping to lose him between the trees, rounding the trunk of an immense oak...and stops still in her tracks.

There, standing right before her, closer than he has ever been since her childhood, is the Tall Man.

A strange, harsh static buzz fills her head, and Autumn cries out, putting her hands over her ears. It does nothing to stem the noise—it’s in her very brain. Like the rush of a waterfall, the dangerous hum of a downed power line...his voice.

_Autumn_ , he says. _I am here_.

Autumn gazes up into his blank white face. His suit is fresh-pressed, beautifully tailored to his thin body. His tentacles are out, poised above and behind him, ready to strike. He is unquestionable, solid. Not simply a figure in the dark— _real_.

“Leave me alone!” she screams at him, suddenly so angry she can barely think. Her fury doesn’t move him, however. He simply reaches forward with one massive, long-fingered hand, and cups her chin. Gently, almost...tenderly.

_Come_ , he whispers into her mind.

“No,” she says harshly, her voice ragged, pulling away from him. “ _Never_.”

_I can give you the world_ , the Tall Man says, still calm. _I can give—_

“ _No!_ ” Autumn screams. “I don’t _want_ you! I don’t want anything to _do_ with you!”

_That doesn’t matter_ , the Tall Man says. _We are connected. Forever._

“Why?” Autumn shoots back. “ _Why_?”

_In time_ , he says. _I will tell you in time. But you must come with me. And all your questions will be answered_. He pauses, like he’s thinking. _I will not harm you, my Autumn. My special girl._

“Fuck. Off.” She can’t think of anything else to say. The Tall Man tilts his head at her.

_You will come…_ Suddenly, one of his black tentacles whips out. Autumn gasps, shielding her eyes, but she does not feel any pain. When she looks back at him, however, Aaron is standing beside him...and the Tall Man’s tentacle is wrapped around his throat.

_He is mine_ , the Tall Man says. _He is lost to you. Unless you come. Then we can all be together_.

Autumn looks at Aaron’s pale face. He is still blank, still hypnotized...but in his eyes she sees pain. Somewhere in there, somewhere deep inside his clouded mind, Aaron is screaming.

There is nothing else she can do. Tears rolling down her face, she takes a shaky step toward the Tall Man. She has to accept. She has to save Aaron. No one else will die for her.

“Let him go,” she says. “And I’ll come with you.”

_Yes_ , the Tall Man says immediately. _This is acceptable_. He holds out a pale hand. And slowly, Autumn reaches up to take it.

She’s about to touch him, about to feel his strange, pale flesh beneath her palm, when suddenly a blinding black light fills her head. Autumn screams, something in her skull cracking, breaking, some energy from inside engulfing her completely and flowing out of her, rushing on black wings toward the Tall Man.

She feels herself falling to the ground. Then everything goes dark.

* * *

 Autumn wakes shivering on the forest floor, covered in leaves and frost. It is dawn. The Tall Man is gone. And she has no idea what happened.

She can’t remember anything. She doesn’t know what that strange energy was, or if it was even real, and she doesn’t know what happened after she fainted. But she is okay—she’s cold and dirty and scraped up, but she’s okay.

She gains her feet. She looks around, trying to get her bearings—trying to find her way out of these woods. There is a creaking sound behind her, and she turns toward it, looking up into the branches of the gigantic oak tree. There is a shape there, a strange dark shape. And it's strange, but it takes a long time for her eyes to focus on it, even longer for her brain to process what she is looking at.

Then Autumn screams.

The dark shape, up there in the trees, blocking out the light of the November sun between sparse branches...It's Aaron. He hangs lifeless and cold, a rope wound tight around his neck.

* * *

 

They find his suicide note in his dorm room. It says things Autumn knows aren’t true—things about how miserable he was, how he never told anyone, how not even his friends or his girlfriend knew. Things about how his life was going nowhere and death was the easiest escape. Things he would never write. But he wrote them—it’s his handwriting, his signature—and they have to accept it.

Autumn never tells her story, and no one presses her. They treat her gently, like a frail bird with broken wings. She can’t stand the pity in their eyes. Her friends try to band around her, to hold her tight and grieve together. But it is her fault—Autumn’s fault he died. She can barely face them, much less meet their eyes. And she can never let this happen again.

She goes to the memorial service. Then she drops out of college and moves across the city. She disconnects from the four best friends she’s ever known.

As she should have done months ago. As soon as the Tall Man reappeared in her life.

* * *

 

There is little to tell about the months after that awful Halloween. There is grieving and guilt and depression and hatred. There is crying and screaming and sleeping for days. Messages go ignored and soon stop altogether. It doesn’t take long before Autumn is alone. As it should be.

And somewhere in the midst of this pain and selfishness and selflessness, Autumn grows up. She gains strength. She stops crying at night. She becomes hard, a cast-iron fortress keeping out the world. She is bullet proof. Because if she isn’t, she wouldn’t survive.

And most importantly, the Tall Man does not come back.

Not for a while, anyway.


	3. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HABIT's actually in this one, which is cool. Notes and constructive criticism on his characterization, especially when he speaks, are always appreciated.

Autumn stands before her full-length mirror, biting her lip. She fingers the hem of her little black dress, examining the way it falls against her frame, then snorts and tugs it over her head. There’s no use trying to look cute. She looks like a fucking ghost of her former self—skinnier, sadder, paler. Even her hair, dyed freshly black, has lost some of its shine.

Shrugging, Autumn pulls on an old band shirt, some ripped black jeans and her worn motorcycle jacket. If she has to go out, at least she’ll be comfortable. She honestly can’t believe she’s fucking doing this, anyway. It’s been…what, nearly six months since she saw any of them?

But when she came home from work last week—a barista gig, minimum wage and tiresome—she found an invitation in her email inbox. Blake’s 23rd birthday party. They’re meeting up at their old regular haunt, the Drowned Maiden, a local dive bar just shitty enough to be comfortable. And Autumn, against her better judgement, can’t fucking help herself.

But doesn’t she deserve this? Just this one night of happiness, of friends? She’s barely spoken to any of them for nearly half a year. She’s moved across the city and started again. And the Tall Man, since utterly ruining her life for the second time, has once again disappeared.

But it’s more than that. Something inside her—that voice of instinct that whispers at the back of her head—tells her it will be okay. Tells her that meeting them tonight will not have any consequences. Tells her that she _should_ , in fact, take this chance. And the voice is rarely wrong.

So Autumn’s decided to listen.

As she prepares to head out into the February cold, Autumn tugs on black combat boots and checks the mirror a final time. Feeling bold, she grabs a lipstick from her bag and smears it over her mouth—a dark, red-brown shade. It compliments her full lips and darkly circled eyes. It makes her look wise somehow.

Autumn resists the urge to wipe it off and curl up in her bed. Squaring her shoulders, she marches out of her apartment door.

* * *

 “Autumn!” Their eyes are wide and startled, and for the hundredth time since beginning her walk to the bar, Autumn wishes she hadn’t come. She hugs the leather jacket around her frame and smiles sheepishly around, the months between this and the last time she saw any of them suddenly and painfully clear.

“Holy shit,” Blake mutters, coming forward to fold his arms around her. “I didn’t think you’d make it.” He grins, steps back to examine her at arm’s length. “I’m glad you did.”

“Happy birthday,” Autumn replies weakly, trying to smile. Blake’s new girlfriend is bored and blond, looking anywhere but at her. But Liz is here, and that’s good. So are Bernadette and Jackson. She hugs all of them in turn, suddenly feeling close to tears when Bernadette’s embrace lingers firmly. God, she’s missed them. And against all odds, somehow they’ve missed her, too.

And she pictures his smooth white face and hates him all the more for it. For ruining her friendships. For not allowing her this comfort and happiness. But she’ll have tonight, she decides, and she’ll make him pay in any way she can if he ruins it.

_Hear that, Skinny?_ she calls out mentally on the off chance he’s finally figured out how to read her mind. _I’ll make your life hell if you interfere tonight!_

Big talk, she knows. She doubts she could ever avenge herself on him. And anyway, she’s pretty sure he’s still blocked from her thoughts. But it makes her feel better.

And now Bernadette is pulling away and everyone is talking and laughing loudly, and Autumn takes a seat and laughs along. It all normalizes so quickly, as if she hadn’t dropped off the face of the planet for months. As if she doesn’t have a dozen new secrets and a hundred new scars. But no one mentions Aaron. No one mentions her absence. Blake is grinning at her with that smile she likes so much, and Liz bumps her arm and winks at some dirty joke being told, and Jackson is snorting his drink out of his nose. And it’s so wonderful Autumn could cry.

For a second, a fleeting second, she wonders if this could work. She wonders if she could have friends in her life, even with the Faceless Wonder looming over her head.

But then she remembers Aaron. Her mother. Possibly even her father. And she decides this night is her last. She loves these people too much to lose them. So she has to leave them. Again.

At this point Bernadette places a shot in front of her and demands she stop looking so wistful. As a counterpoint, Autumn orders a round for the table.

The night rushes on. Autumn buys Blake enough drinks to topple an elephant, and by midnight they’re all rollicking drunk. Autumn hasn’t laughed this much since she can’t remember when. They’ve abandoned any plans to bar hop, opting to post up at the Drowned Maiden and ride out the evening.

“Like old times,” Blake slurs, wrapping his strong arms around Autumn and trying to kiss her temple. Autumn, mindful of his new girlfriend (what’s her name again? Ashley? Something like that.) Anyway, Autumn ducks the kiss and pulls away to start a play fist-fight, which he joins, laughing. Old times indeed.

Later, when the song on the old jukebox in the corner switches to something lower, softer, Autumn leans against Bernadette in the weathered old booth. Dette strokes her hair and closes her eyes, smiling.

“Missed you,” Autumn slurs.

“Missed you too,” Dette replies. There is a beat. The girl under her shifts, giggles softly. “Wanna know something?”

“What?” Autumn asks.

“Don’t look, but that guy at the bar has been straight staring at you for the last twenty minutes.”

So of course, Autumn looks. She finds him immediately—he’s one of the only people at the bar, and his gaze is so intense and direct she’s surprised she hadn’t noticed it long ago. When he catches her eye, one corner of his wide, full mouth tilts up in a smirk and he raises his glass to her with a hint of irony. Autumn frowns, drunkenly trying to figure this out, while Dette giggles and waves at him. His eyes flicker to Dette for a moment, patronizing, but immediately return to Autumn.

He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans and some ugly baseball cap. College aged for sure, probably not much older than Autumn herself. Average. Shaggy brown hair and a narrow, sharp-boned face. Full, soft looking lips. He wouldn’t be particularly attractive if it weren’t for those eyes. They’re large and intense and gray. Striking, direct, attractive—despite the dark circles underneath.

It’s that gaze that makes Autumn push away from Dette and study him.

But now his eyes are cast in shadow under the brim of the cap as he rests his elbows on the bar in front of him and leans forward, chin tilted down. He’s still looking at her though—she can tell, and she looks back into the darkness around his eyes. His lips widen, splitting to reveal straight white teeth and a smile as sharp as a knife. One corner of his mouth pulls up more than the other, forming dimples in one cheek. The smile is at once vicious and boyish, feral and charming. He places one fist into the palm of the opposite hand and rests his chin on them, tilting his head as the stare off gets longer.

It’s as if, Autumn realizes, he’s waiting for her to recognize him. But she doesn’t. So she rolls her eyes at him, shakes her head, and climbs out of the booth to head toward the bathroom. She doesn’t need some college guy hitting on her, no matter how deep his eyes are. No matter how much they do tug at some very old and very buried memories. She brushes them off and turns her back to him.

The bathroom is tiny and empty, and Autumn takes a long moment to stare at herself in the mirror after she’s finished in it. She’s drunk, but god she looks pale. She can’t believe no one mentioned it. She fixes her smeared eyeliner half-heartedly before turning back to the door.

Her hand barely touches the handle before the door is pushed roughly inward from the other side. Autumn gasps and stumbles backwards. It’s that fucking _guy_ , and he’s smiling—though his lips are closed over his teeth—and his head is turned, his chin tilted up. A smirk, a look of pride. He finds startling her amusing, and he snickers cruelly, mockingly.

“Well, hey there!” he says, his voice rough and filled with mock-friendliness.

“The fuck, man?” Autumn snaps. He raises his eyebrows at her. “Ladies room, dummy. Read the sign.” She moves to push past him, blocking the doorway as he is, trying to ignore the rush of fear that races through her. His arms are solid muscle, she sees, and his shoulders are broad, even if he isn’t particularly tall. He’s still taller than her. Still intimidating. And she has a moment to wonder what he’s planning before he shows her.

As she moves to shoulder past him, the man flies into motion, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her backwards into the bathroom.

Autumn manages to say “Hey!” and stagger away from him, but he simply holds up a hand—“wait”—and turns back to the door. With a solid click he swiftly locks the deadbolt and pauses to grin toothily at her look of fear. He regards her for a long moment and raises his eyebrows, almost reasonably. As if this is normal.

Autumn opens her mouth to say something, to scream, but finds that her voice is gone with her breath. It’s all happening too fast, and her mind empties to make room for pure and simple fear.

“Huh?” the man asks ironically, turning his ear toward her to listen. “Anything you wanna say?” His voice is deeper and rougher than she’d expect just looking at him. Honestly, he sounds more like Beetlejuice than anyone. But there’s nothing funny about him at the moment, and his question confuses Autumn even more thoroughly. He speaks as though this is the continuation of a conversation they’d just been having.

Slowly, not knowing what else to do, Autumn shakes her head, and he widens his eyes expectantly.

“No?” he says. “No? Got nothin’ for me?” He rolls his eyes when she continues to stare at him and laughs gruffly at her. “Alright,” he rasps. “C’mere!”

With that, he springs at her, grabbing her by the hips. He tugs her bodily towards the narrow counter of sinks, pushes her against it and lifts her so that she’s slightly sitting on the ledge. He plants his hips between her thighs and quickly traps both of her wrists behind her back. Autumn leans away from him, her nose filled with his deodorant, the smell of his healthy sweat. She’s sure, to an outsider, the scene would simply look intimate. But her mind is slowly shaking off the inertia of fear, and she’s twisting her wrists in his hands and struggling now.

“Get the fuck off,” she snarls, and she’s proud of her mouth for managing even that. But the man just laughs, a rough kind of “heh heh heh.” Sarcastic and unamused. His warm, powerful arms tighten around her, bringing their bodies more firmly together.

His voice, when he speaks, makes her freeze. It is low and raspy, yes, but it also carries a strange, otherworldly undercurrent—another voice or voices, lower pitched, higher pitched. Unnatural. Distorted. She’s only heard one voice like it before, and she hoped never to hear it again.

“Did ya seriously think,” he says, animated and enthusiastic, transferring both her wrists into one preternaturally strong grip, “that I’d just _give up_ on you? You didn’t consider the option or—or the _probability,_  rather—that I’d _hunt you down_? Like a dog after the scent.” He raises his eyebrows at the shock on her face and shrugs, chuckling. When he continues, his voice has lost that unearthly tone, so abrupt she wonders if she imagined it. “I mean, shit, I’ll be the first to admit it took longer than I expected. But I’m no quitter.” He grins. “You really shoulda seen this comin’.”

“What,” Autumn says through gritted teeth, “the _fuck._ Are you talking about?”

“I—” the man says, and a look of confusion steals across his face. His eyebrows furrow, and he tilts his head to the side, studying her, one hand coming up to shift the baseball cap back on his head. “You don’t recognize me?” His voice is the most level she’s heard from him, and Autumn shakes her head, staring at him, slowly realizing he’s insane.

_Why are the hot ones always crazy?_

The man pulls away from her, releasing her hands to search his pants pocket for something. Autumn uses the opportunity to try to squirm around and away from him, but with a grunt the man holds up a forceful hand and slams his hips against her, forcing her back against the counter. He glances up at her, a dangerous look in his eyes, and she stills. There is murder in that intense gaze.

The man returns to searching his pocket and finally comes up with a crumpled polaroid, which he uncrumples and studies, glancing back and forth between it and Autumn. Then he turns it to show her a picture of herself. She is winking at the camera, blowing a kiss. She recognizes it. New Years 2010, more than a year ago at the huge house party. The night she and Aaron got together. She has no idea who took the photo. There were probably more than a hundred people there.

“That’s you, _right?_ ” the man says as though he’s speaking to a child. Autumn nods. “You’re,” he taps the photo, “this girl?” She nods. He turns it to check it again, lips pursing in a satisfied way. “Autumn Penderghast.” He sighs through his nose, looking back up at her with a smirk. “Stupid fuckin’ name, by the way, but I guess you can’t help that. And your family’s the Penderghasts who own—or _used_ to own—the woods up in fuckin’ Maine? Correct?”

His tone is almost pleasant, and he pauses, waiting for a response, but when she just continues to stare his look shifts instantly into one of fury, genuinely fucking terrifying.

“ _Correct?_ ” he growls, shaking her slightly by the hips.

“Yeah,” she squeaks immediately, hating the fear in her own voice. “Yeah, that’s correct.”

“Alright!” he exclaims, smiling again. “Excellent, excellent.” He tilts his head at her, examining her face, and chuckles raspily, reaching up to pat her cheek. “So! Autumn. Given your look of…” He cracks up wheezily, watching her, “ _utter_ fuckin’ bafflement, I’m gonna go ahead and guess you don’t remember shit about me.”

“I have no fucking _idea_ who you are,” Autumn replies, trying to make her voice sound strong.  The man nods, looking down contemplatively, scratching his chin.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He regards her for a long moment, then shrugs. “Not that it matters.” He laughs at her look of surprise—a high-pitched, chittery snickering—and points at her. “Because, oh boy, do I remember _you._  Though, uh, last time we met it was a while ago, a couple years ago, maybe—maybe a couple _decades_ . And you were a little, teeny-tiny bit upset, havin’ some troubles, you know, all stressed out, havin’ some _family drama._  I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. There was a lot going on and you were, like, what? Like seven?” He rolls his eyes. “Shoulda heard yourself, all high-pitched and hysterical. Just _screaming_ and _whining_ \-- _Wah, wah, help me, mommy_ …Really fucking annoying, to be honest, Autumn.” His look has darkened significantly during his speech, but now he is grinning again, sudden and manic. “But hey! Who can blame ya? I mean, I can’t. You were just a _kid,_ right?”

He leans away from her, tilting his head back, a self-satisfied smile playing around his mouth. He’s examining her with hooded eyes, and Autumn is starting to piece things together. Though it’s all too crazy, there’s really only one event he could be referring to from her childhood. And his strange, raspy Beetlejuice voice, distorted and echoing…

She’s shaken from her thoughts when she feels his broad, warm hands on her hips, fingers fully splayed, feeling her curves under her thin t-shirt. He inhales through his nose, eyebrows raised, and slides his grip slightly up her sides. Her shirt bunches up a little, and the calloused tips of his fingers brush against her skin. And Autumn jolts, because when their flesh touches...She can’t describe it as anything but _electric._  Like a literal _spark._

And it feels _good._

She doesn’t know if he feels it too, but he instantly removes his hands from her, like pulling away from a hot stove, and regards her with a stern look. She feels like a puppy he’s about to scold.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, soft and hoarse. Dangerous. “But you’re not a kid anymore. Are ya?” he says, leaning closer to her face.

His hands come back to her hips, his grip stronger this time, and he pulls her bodily against him. He’s cradled between her thighs, his firm belly and hip bones parting her legs. She grunts, dismayed, and tries to pull back, but this guy is _strong._  Stronger than he looks, even with those muscular arms. Stronger than he should be.

“Nah, Autumn, you’ve fuckin’ _grown._ Not too shabby, either, for whatever that’s worth.” He leans close to her face, one of his hands coming up to curl around her chin. Autumn feels his breath against her, his heat, and she can’t help but glance down to his full, smirking lips. He lingers, pressed against her, and for a long, charged moment she’s sure he’s about to kiss her. Worse, she can’t tell how she feels about that. If his fingers felt electric, how would his lips feel? How would his tongue?

“I mean, look at you!” he says, suddenly pushing her away to gesture broadly with both hands at her body. “No scars, no...missing limbs. You’re still fuckin’ breathing, aren’tcha, which is honestly a goddamn surprise, given what I know about you. Given your...tragic fuckin’ circumstances.” He snickers wildly as Autumn catches her breath. The guy can _talk,_ can’t he? She hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise.

Now, however, he pauses, looking thoughtful as his eyes roam over her. He puts a hand to his chin and tilts his head, as if picturing what he could do with her and how much fun it would be.

“Okay,” she says, pushing her hair back and trying not to remember the thrill of being close to him. She’s never reacted to a guy like this, certainly never a crazy stranger with vicious eyes. What is _wrong_ with her? “Why don’t you just tell me who the fuck you are?”

“Oh, shit,” the man says, and snickers. “Yeah, I still haven’t introduced myself, have I? How fuckin’ rude of me, right?” He places a hand to his chest, finally giving her a little space as he backs up a step. He affects his voice into a bad mockery of something posh. “You cut to the core of me.” He laughs again. “You’re a no-shit kinda person, aren’tcha? Excellent. I love that.”

“Jesus,” Autumn snaps, rolling her eyes. “What’s your fucking name?”

“Eh,” the man shrugs and waves the question away, as if bored. “Names...People fuckin’ _love_ naming things, I’ve noticed. Especially on the internet. Me, for example, they got all _kinds_ of things they call me.”

_Jesus,_  Autumn thinks. _If this guy tells me he’s fucking Satan incarnate, I’ll know he’s delusional, and I’ll kick him in the balls and run. I don’t give a shit what he knows about my past._

The appropriate thing, she muses, would have been to do that at the _beginning_ of this fucked up conversation. But she’s in too deep now. He’s got her attention.

“Like?” Autumn says impatiently. The man shoots her a dark look, then smiles.

“Uh, well,” he says, “I’ve gone by a lot of names, lotta aliases—Ed. Ted. Jack...Vlad.” He considers, then grins. “That was a fun one.” Autumn’s raised eyebrows and expression of flat disbelief are met with a jolly shrug. Is he fucking with her? “Those were all at different times, of course, different decades...different centuries. Old news. Mostly what they call me is, like, uh...‘ _Ah! Help me!_ ’ or ‘ _Oh God, what have you done to my legs?_ ’” Autumn closes her eyes as he begins laughing again, and his hands come down on the tops of her thighs, casually squeezing and rubbing as if he has the right. “But lately, I’ve just been going by...HABIT.”

“HABIT?” Autumn asks dryly.  _And he says_ my _name is stupid._

“The one and only,” he says, placing both hands proudly on his chest. “The faces may change, but the scourge remains the same.”

“Okay,” Autumn says. She’s had just about enough of this bullshit. “We’re fucking done here.” She begins to slide down from the counter, intent on pushing him aside and leaving this crazy dick behind. She doesn’t know how he got that photo or how he guessed so much about her childhood, but he’s clearly fucking with her and she’s not staying around for it.

“Well, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” HABIT says. His tone is mild, and for a second he does let her start to slide down, to push him away.

Then he flies into action.

Suddenly, HABIT’s hand is at her throat, and he slams her head into the mirror behind her with bruising force. Autumn gasps, tries to scream, but his fingers are squeezing at her windpipe, and he’s leaning toward her now, staring at her with a look of fury such as she’s never seen on another person’s face. A fury that could decimate mountains and burn cities to the ground, and a lucidity in his eyes that tells her he’d do just that. In fact, maybe he’s _already_ done that. Maybe he’s done worse.

It scares her, truly and deeply, in a way she hasn’t been scared since the Tall Man took Aaron. Since her parents. And Autumn has a moment to wonder, while we’re on the subject, why old Skinny hasn’t shown up yet, when she’s in such clear danger. You’d think he’d want to protect his property, right? Was she, in the far reaches of her fucked little mind, actually _counting_ on that?

HABIT speaks, and the hints of distortion she heard before are magnified tenfold. His voice is utterly _demonic_ —it sounds like many voices all speaking together, guttural and silky and deep and airy, all at once.

" _I don’t really think you_ ** _get_** _the_ ** _gravity_** _of your situation here,_ ** _Autumn_** ,” he says, leaning toward her until their noses nearly touch. His teeth are out, like a wolf baring down on its prey, and his eyes shine with a black light. The air seems to crackle around them. The lights in the bathroom flicker. “ _Are you_ ** _stupid_** _? Are you_ ** _blind_** _? Have you been paying_ ** _any_** _attention over the past…_ ” He checks his bare wrist, as if a watch was on it. “ ** _Eighteen_** _fuckin’_ ** _years_** _? Or did you just—did ya just hope it’d_ ** _all_** _disappear? Just like,_ ** _poof_** _, bye-bye monsters! How’d that work out for you,_ ** _Autumn_** _? Did ol’ Stick in the Mud_ ** _leave you alone_** _? Did you get to live a_ ** _normal_** _,_ ** _boring_** _life after I killed your fuckin’_ ** _mother_** _?_ ** _Huh_** _?_ ”

He stares at her, breathing heavily, eyes wide, and Autumn thinks she should probably answer, but all she’s able to come up with is a shaky intake of breath and a quick shake of her head.

“ ** _No_** ,” HABIT continues, like he cannot even comprehend her level of ineptitude. “ _You_ **_didn’t_** _, did you?_ **_He_ ** _came for you, again and again, never able to touch you, and you figured..._ ** _what_ ** _? He just has a fuckin’_ **_crush_** _?_ ” He rears back, chewing the inside of his cheek, and regards her carefully. “ _No, you...you, you, you! You’re_ **_special_** _, aren’tcha, Autumn?_ ”

“Yes,” she says, hearing the fear in her voice and hating it. How much does he know, she wonders. How much does he guess?

“ _Good_ …” HABIT is smiling now, toothy and dimpled, and the smile is even more terrifying than the rage. “ _And you don’t just get to_ **_stop_ ** _bein’ special, do ya?_ ” She shakes her head to humor him, and he shakes his right along. “ _No. You don’t. You get to stay this way for the rest of your pathetic_ _life."_  He sighs, purses his lips and puts a hand to his hat, as if checking that it's still there. He shrugs. _"Now, frankly, under normal circumstances, I usually wouldn’t waste my fuckin’ time with you—I got four or five ‘special people’ keeping me busy as hell, thanks. But I’m in the market for a body…_ ”

Autumn feels the cold fingers of dread spread up her spine as she realizes what he’s saying. He smiles when he notices her expression of horror.

“No,” she whispers, and his grin widens.

_“Yeah,”_ he replies. _“I mean, this one’s great and all_ …” He holds up an arm which, to be fair, is muscular and beautiful. _"But I think havin’ a spare might be helpful. Especially one so...nonthreatening. So_ **_pretty_.** _Plus, I couldn't miss out on the chance to get inside that head of yours, see what kinda shit you **know** , even if you don't know you know it. And something I’ve learned from experience is, you _ **_special_ ** _fuckers make the best vessels."_  He grins, tilting his chin up, oddly and horribly charming. _"Y_ _er usually pretty fuckin’ hard to kill."_  

Autumn starts fighting then, with everything in her. Her arms lash out, trying to hit him, and her legs catch at his gut and push. But he just laughs hoarsely, securing her limbs to her sides with his highly, supernaturally superior strength.

“Okay,” he says, most of the distortion gone from his voice. “Enough fuckin’ around, I guess.” He reaches up and takes off his cap, smoothing back his shaggy hair before replacing it. Then he meets her eye and grins. “Let me in, baby.”

Wind suddenly seems to pick up around them, filling the tiny bathroom with some kind of gale, some kind of force. Autumn closes her eyes, feeling it batter against her face, her skull, and realizes pretty quickly that it’s not wind. It’s HABIT.

The lights in the room, in the whole fucking _bar,_ flicker and pop into darkness. She hears the screams and excited cries of other patrons from outside, feels HABIT’s warm arms around her, feels his energy beat at her mind, trying to force its way in. It tugs at her brainstem, wraps around her amygdala, tries to squeeze between the crevices and integrate with her neurons. It is powerful and torrential and it fucking _hurts_ —it hurts so bad she wishes he would just find his home and take her. Just so the pain would stop.

But it doesn’t. He doesn’t.

He tries for a long time, longer than necessary, his hand clasped over Autumn’s mouth to keep her cries of pain from reaching the people outside. They’re all distracted with the power-outage, though. At one point, Autumn’s gaze, blurry and confused, finds HABIT’s face through the darkness—his eyes are closed, his teeth bared, a look of intense concentration and deepening irritation clouding his features. And she realizes something.

_He can’t get in_.

The thought is like a spark, flying from her, forcing him away. HABIT jumps back and his torrential energy ceases, rushing back home in his current vessel—the college aged boy with the crooked smile and the gray eyes.

Autumn takes a deep breath, relieved the assault is over, and turns to look into HABIT’s eyes. They are dark, intense...fascinated.

“Huh,” he says, catching his breath. “Now, that _is_ fuckin’ interesting.” His mouth suddenly splits into a wide, vicious grin and he jerks forward, aggressively bringing his face close to hers.  _"_ _How’d ya do that?"_  The words distort in the air around him as he reaches up and seizes the back of her neck. The lights still haven’t come back on, and they’re pressed together in the dark, and Autumn is agonizingly aware of his firm body and jutting hip bones between her thighs.

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” she replies coldly.

_"Don't,"_  he snaps, suddenly furious again. His other hand grips her face, squishing her cheeks together. _"_ _Don’t_ fuckin’ _lie_ to me, Autumn. Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

“I didn’t,” she insists shakily. “I swear to god.”

Abruptly releasing her, HABIT leans back to examine her, head tilted, lips pursed. His eyes roam up and down her form for a long moment before that wide grin snaps back on his face, and he snickers wheezily. He bounces a little on the balls of his feet and shakes his head, gesturing at her choppily with both hands.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll believe that. I even think you’re tellin’ the truth, or at least telling me what you _think_ is true. So, now the question becomes—”

“Autumn!” The voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door, accompanied by a loud knocking. At the same moment, the lights flicker back on. HABIT is cut off and turns to the door, clearly annoyed. “Autumn? You in there?” It’s Blake, slurring and concerned.

With a jolt, Autumn remembers exactly where she is and why. Somehow, HABIT has managed to eclipse everything, to turn her world upside down in the space of a few minutes.

He’s smiling at her again, close-mouthed and self-satisfied, and tilts his head toward the bathroom door, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a minute!” Autumn calls, sensing an escape. After throwing another irritated glance at the door, HABIT’s look goes sly, and he saunters back up to her.

“I guess this is goodbye,” he rasps, cupping her chin roughly. “For now.” He watches her face, which she tries to keep still and cold, and laughs at her expression. He pats her cheek. “See ya later, gorgeous.”

Before Autumn can stop him, HABIT moves to the bathroom door, unlocks it and opens it wide. Blake is standing outside, and a look of confusion steals over his face when he catches sight of HABIT’s smirk, of Autumn sitting on the bathroom counter, flushed and tousled.

HABIT simply throws him a cocky smirk, patting him on the shoulder and roughly pushing past him. Blake follows his movements drunkenly, then turns back to Autumn.

She hitches in a breath and tries to smile, hopping down off the counter. He returns with a grin of his own, raising an eyebrow and nodding behind him, where HABIT has disappeared into the bar.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“No idea,” Autumn says. “Just...some guy.”

“Huh,” Blake replies, a little frosty. “Didn’t think you were the type…”

“To what?” she snaps back. “Hook up with a stranger?” She scoffs, weirdly defensive despite not actually doing anything. “Give me a fucking break. It’s been a rough year.” She thinks a second, watching his face—drunk, confused, hurt—and softens. “Happy birthday.”

And she pushes past him, feeling tears spring to her eyes, and then she’s moving swiftly, down the hall, through the bar, through the doors and into the February chill. She doesn’t say goodbye—not to Blake, not to any of her friends. She can’t. She starts walking in the direction of home, then she starts running.

They’re not going to leave her alone, she knows that now. She’ll never be safe, never be normal. And it’s not just the Tall Man she has to be scared of. She seems to have caught the attention of another monster, too. A monster with a vicious smile and wild gray eyes.

And the worst part, she thinks—when she’s finally back in her apartment, and she’s locked and chained the door, and she’s curled up under the softest blanket she owns—the very worst part is, she can’t seem to get those eyes out of her head.


	4. The...Courtship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have reviewed the various feedback on this story, and I am pleased to report that "Yooo this shit fucking slapppssss" is the best comment I've ever received on anything.
> 
> Thanks guys. You are all precious children of Lucifer. Blessings of him upon ye.

It goes back to the way it was.

There’s nothing else to do. Friends are no longer an option. The one time in six fucking months Autumn dares to be social, she’s harassed by some...demon guy. At least, she assumes he’s a demon. He possesses people, apparently, and he has those crazy eyes and a clear lust for the blood of the innocent. What else could he be?

She wonders about his connection to the Tall Man. They clearly know each other—he called him “Stick in the Mud.” They must have some kind of relationship. But what? Are they working together? Are they enemies?

The fucked up thing is, Autumn finds herself getting curious about it. She knows she shouldn’t. She should be staying as far from these fucks as possible. They’ve ruined her life time and again. If what HABIT said is true, she’s caught their interest and they probably won’t leave her alone. What she _should_ be doing is running as far as she can, as fast as she can.

But she doesn’t. Because despite herself, she wants to know _why_. And HABIT is her best shot at that. He’s someone she can actually have a fairly coherent conversation with, at least. The little she’s seen of him has been threatening, mocking and violent. But it’s better than the Tall Man repeating, “come with me” and “special girl” over and over inside her head.

That’s not to say she’s exactly _looking forward_ to seeing HABIT again. Most of her dreads the very idea. He is dangerous, terrifying, a monster in as many ways as the Tall Man and somehow worse. He’s loud and in your face, where the Tall Man is silent and reclusive. He’s violent and unknown, while Autumn can pretty much predict the Tall Man’s every move at this point. He’s a new kind of monster.

So why can’t she stop thinking about him?

It’s not as romantic as all that—really, it isn’t—but let’s be honest here. Autumn can’t get HABIT out of her goddamn, fucked up little head. The attraction she feels toward him is undeniably intense, and the fact that it baffles her just makes it worse. He’s good looking, sure, but it’s not like he’s the hottest guy she’s ever seen. He’s slightly above average at best, and that’s not even _his_ body. Who knows what he really looks like? He could really look like some fucking lizard creature.

But she has a feeling his physical appearance isn’t to blame here. The frank truth is, there’s something about HABIT. There’s something about the controlled mania in his eyes, the cleverness of his smile, the well-spoken, fast-talking nature. Like Freddy Krueger or Beetlejuice or the Joker. Autumn’s always had a thing for charismatic monsters, and this one’s charisma personified.

And then there’s what she felt when they touched. The more she reflects on it, the more she realizes how _physical_ it was. It wasn’t just chemistry—it was a literal _spark_ between them, magnified when his flesh touched hers, and it felt _so good_. She keeps thinking about it, keeps going back to it—especially at night, tossing and turning in bed. The simple brush of his fingertips against the skin of her waist triggered a chain reaction that burned across every nerve ending. What would the rest of his skin feel like?

That mix of guilt and helpless attraction turns out to be something she should get used to. She manages to push HABIT and the Tall Man to the very back of her head during daily life, but nighttime is another story. When Autumn isn’t jumping at every shadow outside her window, she’s worrying that tonight will be the night HABIT makes good on his promise to see her later. And that truly scares her. Autumn’s a realist. She knows the difference between fantasy and reality. She knows that if she ever sees HABIT again, that will probably be the day she dies.

* * *

In the meantime, Autumn does some research. It’s not hard to find. A simple Google search of the words “HABIT + Slenderman,” and it pops right up.

EverymanHYBRID. It’s a YouTube channel, surprisingly popular. People are calling it a Slenderman ARG, and a particularly well done one at that. It’s got videos, Twitter accounts, scavenger hunts, the whole nine. And, of course, it’s got HABIT.

Except...No, it really doesn’t. On camera, he goes by the name Evan. And besides being stalked by the Slenderman, along with his friends Vinny and Jeff, he's apparently a normal guy. Autumn curiously watches through the thirty-something videos they have posted. It’s weird, seeing him onscreen and not feeling the rush of primal attraction she gets when she so much as imagines his eyes. That’s what tells her it’s not really HABIT. Once or twice, she sees flashes of the monster inside—and, weirdly enough, she is always able to spot him immediately—but most of what she sees in all that grainy YouTube footage is an unfortunate college kid desperately trying to understand what is happening to him.

Where HABIT really comes in to the EMH gang is Twitter. He makes a lot of posts, mostly vague threats or instructions for some stupid game he’s playing. Autumn doesn’t follow it. All these people giving him attention and interest...it makes her sick. But she supposes she can’t blame them. If she thought this was fiction, she’d probably be into it, too.

It’s odd to see the Tall Man on the channel, to see how his relationship with the three boys differs from hers. To them, he is a silent, sinister monster. None of them have spoken to him, or even really gotten close. At present, he seems to simply be harassing them because of their pasts. Or something. The whole plot is pretty complicated.

Autumn gets the feeling that the reason the Tall Man is stalking them and the reason he is stalking her have nothing to do with each other. She doesn’t know why she thinks that— _knows_ that—but she does. It’s that gut-instinct thing. There might be some similarities between her and the boys, maybe, but they really have nothing to do with each other. Besides HABIT and the Tall Man—those seem to be their links.

After a couple weeks, for her own sanity, Autumn swears off EverymanHYBRID.They don’t have any answers, at least not yet. Maybe she’ll check back in a few months, assuming she isn’t dead by then. Maybe they’ll have figured out more about HABIT and the Tall Man.

* * *

Autumn goes on trying to live her life of solitude, but paranoia is becoming a constant companion. Every day HABIT doesn’t show up at her doorstep, she becomes more and more convinced it’s just a matter of time. The Tall Man shows up occasionally, as usual, but that other monster feels like a more present threat. The EMH boys apparently live in New Jersey, same as her. He could be anywhere—in any body—and she’d have no idea.

Every time Autumn has to go outside after dark. Every time there’s a knock at the door. Every time a car follows a little too close behind—Autumn is sure he’s there.

Her plan is to stay calm if she sees him. See where his head’s at, keep her distance. And if things go sour, she’ll fight with everything she has. She won’t win, she knows that, but if she has to go down, she’ll go down swinging, by God.

* * *

A month passes. Autumn starts to relax. It’s hard to keep your guard up that long, especially when things seem so safe. She hasn’t even seen the Tall Man in a couple weeks. She doesn’t truly think anything’s changed, but she might as well enjoy a vacation from all the fuckery, right? Let her hair down, take a breath. She deserves that much, right?

It’s Friday night, and Autumn is curled up at home in nothing but a black tank top and matching panties, sipping a glass of wine and watching horror movies. Her new kitten, Binx, as black as his namesake, is curled up in her lap, purring contentedly. This is true luxury. She actually feels relaxed tonight, even content.

But, of course, she can’t stay that way for long.

Around midnight, Autumn stretches and yawns, causing Binx to jump off her lap with a look of utter disgust. Autumn laughs as he sprints around the corner and up the stairs, little feet pitter-pattering rapidly. He’s only a couple months old, but he's got the attitude of a much larger, streetwise tomcat. She absolutely adores him.

Deciding she can get through at least one more episode of Dexter before going to bed, Autumn hits the button on the remote and settles back against the couch. Binx is raising hell upstairs, all jacked up on that natural cat adrenaline. She can hear a few little bumps as he races back and forth, knocking things over and getting into things. He’s probably shredding the toilet paper again, but Autumn is too buzzed to care at the moment.

Focusing back on the TV, Autumn gets a few minutes into the show before she hears a creak on the stairs behind her. _That wasn’t Binx. That sounded like a footstep._ An electric jolt of fear zings through her body, and she sits upright, slamming a finger down on the pause button. In the ringing silence that follows, Autumn listens hard for any more sounds, but hears nothing. Sighing, she settles back and presses play again.

Almost immediately, there is another creak. Autumn pauses the show and carefully gets up. Honestly, she’s not really _scared_. Houses creak, and she’s only been in this place for a couple months. She’s really just curious. But hot damn did that sound like a footstep.

Frowning, she pads over to the corner of the living room and peers around it to the narrow stairs. No one is there, but she doesn’t feel relieved, like she thought she would. It’s dark upstairs, and the cat is quiet.

“Binx?” she calls. Nothing. _He’s a kitten,_  she hisses at herself. _He’s not gonna come when he’s called. So there’s no reason to freak yourself out._

All the same, Autumn climbs the stairs. She’s intent now on finding her cat and taking him with her, keeping an eye on him the rest of the night. Not that he’d be able to protect her, but it somehow feels better just to be around another living creature.

Autumn pauses when she reaches the top of the stairs. It’s dark in the hallway, but her bedroom door is closed, and she can see light coming from under the crack. She doesn’t remember leaving her light on, nor leaving music playing up here, but she hears it faintly through the door, so she must have. Something depressive, with a lot of bass. The Cure, maybe.

But she also hears some noises under the music, faint rustling and creaking. Autumn approaches her bedroom—maybe Binx got trapped in there and is raising a ruckus trying to escape. Somehow. Or something. _There’s nothing behind that door,_  she tells herself fiercely. _You’re alone in this goddamn house, and there won’t be anything there besides the kitten._

Autumn pushes the door wide.

“Autumn! How ya doin’, gorgeous?”

He’s sitting on her bed, leaning back against the headboard as if he owns the place, dirty boots tangled in her sheets. Binx is curled up on his chest, the traitor, and one of HABIT’s broad hands restlessly strokes the little vibrating back, while the other gesticulates broadly around her untidy bedroom.

“Nice place ya got here,” he says, grinning at her. She’s unable to speak for a second, standing stock-still in the doorway, one hand still splayed against the door. “Nice cat, too.” He picks Binx up and speaks directly to him, while the tiny animal blinks at him sleepily. “Yes, you are very nice. Yes. Very trusting, some would say _overly_ trusting.” He snickers. “Cute little fucker, aren’tcha?”

Fury rips through Autumn at the sight of her kitty, so trustingly cradled in this monster’s hands, and it eclipses the shock and fear that kept her immobilized. She stomps to the end of the bed, holding out her palms for Binx. When HABIT just raises his eyebrows at her, she sneers.

“You’d better not fucking eat him,” she snaps.

“What the fuck?” HABIT asks immediately, looking genuinely offended. “ _Eat_...I’m not gonna fucking _eat_ it, you psycho.” He shakes his head and pulls to his chest. “I’m not a _monster_.” He considers. “Well, okay, I’m not _that_ kinda monster.” He chuckles, then immediately coos at the cat in his arms, baby-talking to it for a few moments in a way that is both reassuring and extremely upsetting. Autumn lets him, folding her arms across her chest to watch.

He glances up at her, notices the directness of her gaze, and double-takes, a grin spread across his lips.

“You’re not runnin’,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Not callin’ the cops...You find a strange man in your house, cuddling your kitty, and you’re not immediately callin’ the cops.” He ‘tsk’s, an irritating click of his tongue, and tilts his head at her. “Do you have some kinda death wish?” Autumn rolls her eyes, and HABIT straightens in his seat. “Do you? I mean, shit, I don’t know—you’re doing the sexy goth girl thing. Does that mean you’re suicidal?”

“Give me the cat,” Autumn tries again, ignoring the stupid question and thrusting out her hand. HABIT raises his eyebrows at her, tilting his head and continuing to pet Binx, clearly waiting for an answer. Autumn sighs. “No, I’m not suicidal.”

“Really,” HABIT replies dryly. He nods to himself, looking thoughtful, and finally sets the kitten down on the bed beside him, where the little traitor immediately curls up and falls asleep again. HABIT sits upright, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed and bracing his hands on his knees. “I gotta tell ya, Autumn,” he says, and he laughs, gesturing to her. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“What would calling the cops do?” Autumn says, more challenge in her tone than is probably smart. “You’d just let yourself get arrested? Let me put a restraining order on you?”

HABIT snickers, high-pitched and chittery, the noise carrying with it some of that strange, demonic distortion she’s heard before. She thinks, perhaps, she’s hearing echoes of what this monster _really_ sounds like. His true voice.

“Good fuckin’ point,” he says, pointing at her. And suddenly he’s standing, coming toward her, speaking rapidly. “Now, since you’ve been... _marked_ , uh—been part of this world, I should say—been this way since you were a kid, my guess is you’re probably a little less surprised, a little less _confused_ about all this shit than most of the fucks I’m used to dealing with. Is that fair?” He pauses to let her respond, and Autumn just shrugs—how the fuck is she supposed to know? HABIT continues, unphased. “Maybe you have some shit worked out, maybe you don’t.” He snickers. “I doubt it. Frankly. But—but that’s not what matters. What _does_ matter, Autumn, right now, uh, to me—” He meets her gaze, eyes wide, the mockery of an innocent look. “Oh. And to you.” He grins, then immediately looks away, moving his hands restlessly as he continues to speak. “What matters is your role. The part you play in all this. Your... _raison d’etre_.” He shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “Cuz I still haven’t figured out what that is. _Why_ he’s so interested...in a normal girl.”

“I didn’t think I _was_ normal,” Autumn replies venomously, watching warily as he comes a bit closer. He’s listening intently to every word out of her mouth, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed. “I thought you guys said I was _special._ ” She spits the word. She hates it.

HABIT leans back, grinning widely. “Yeah,” he says and laughs. “Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” He raises his eyebrows at her, and he’s closer now, a little too close— _maybe extra-dimensional monsters don’t understand the concept of personal space._ He’s right in her face, still smiling, but his eyes are shrewd. Autumn feels the warmth coming from him, and suddenly her body is fucking _humming,_ and she wonders fleetingly if it’s from his sheer proximity.

But then, because of course, HABIT starts talking again. “But I’ve been busy these last couple weeks,” he says. “Been doing some digging, doing some research—on you, Autumn—and I’ve come up with a couple little tidbits that are actually pretty fucking interesting.” He grins, then reaches out and carefully picks up a lock of her dark hair which falls over her collarbones between two fingers. He places it gently, deliberately, behind her shoulder, eyes lingering on her neck with nothing short of interest. Autumn freezes. “Wanna hear ‘em?”

“Yes,” Autumn says, horrified to hear how hoarse and breathy she sounds. _He barely touched you—get a fucking hold of yourself._ She clears her throat, noticing that his hands are stained and speckled red. Her mouth tightens. “I mean, I doubt I have a choice, either way.”

HABIT snickers, finally stepping back, giving her a bit of room. He doesn’t seem as affected by their proximity as she is, which isn’t promising. It probably means all the chemistry is in Autumn’s head, which makes her feel more pathetic than she already does.

“Cute,” he says, pointing at her. “The brave act. Very convincing.”

“Thank you,” Autumn says. “I’ve worked hard on it.” His eyebrows pop up, and his responsive chuckle might actually be a sound of genuine amusement.

“I can tell,” he says firmly, and for a second he seems kind of normal, and his smile is so infectious that Autumn actually feels her own lip twitch. Exactly how fucked up is she, really?

Then HABIT gestures wildly, getting himself and the conversation back on track. “So! Autumn. Yeah. The point. The point is, I haven’t killed you yet. And I bet, curious girl that you are, you’re wondering why that is. Right? Why _haven’t_ I killed you yet? Say, ‘HABIT, why haven’t you killed me yet?’”

“Is it my magnetic personality?” Autumn replies dryly, ignoring his order. He’s reacted well to her sarcasm so far—maybe it’ll keep him relatively pleasant.

And it seems to work. He seems not to notice that she doesn’t repeat after him. Instead, he snickers wildly.

“Nope!” he says, laughing. “Not even close!” He shakes his head, then claps once, focusing his thoughts. “Um. No. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re a great girl. A good person. Someone who’s...overcome her past, who’s gotten stronger, who _never gives up._ ” He raises a fist triumphantly to the sky and laughs, shaking his head before dropping his hand. “A real fuckin’ paragon. But none of that shit matters...at _all._ ” His look darkens as he examines her up and down. “The only reason I haven’t fucking _gutted_ you where you stand…” His fist clenches spasmodically, as if he wishes he could, and Autumn can’t help but flinch back. He inhales sharply, then grins. “I think I told you last time, didn’t I, that I knew people like you. _Special_ people, people who draw...interest, people who are...different. And at the time, I thought you were like them—that is, you came from the same place, you’re the same type of special. And he wants to _use_ you because of that, bring you back...into the fold.” HABIT nods, and Autumn notices how serious he looks now—his grin is gone, his chin tilted down, his eyes intense. He stalks toward her slowly, regarding her carefully. “But what d’you think I found out, Autumn?” His voice is a growl, low and husky, and it sends a shiver through her.

“I don’t know,” she replies, watching him warily. HABIT’s responsive grin is sudden and vicious.

“You sure?” he says.

“Yes,” she replies, sick of the games. “I’m fucking sure.”

HABIT nods, looks to the ground, and glances back up at her with a mild expression. Then, suddenly, he springs at her, a blur of motion, and he’s on her, against her, driving her back into the wall with a hand at her throat. He slams his body forcibly into hers, pinning her there, his teeth bared in a snarl, and Autumn gasps. She’s never been this sure she’s about to die, but nor can she ignore the strange warm zing of energy that flows through him, into her. Her hands fly up to clutch at the fingers around her windpipe, cutting off air just enough to make her nervous. He is all coiled tension, lean muscle, and she finds out very quickly that struggling does nothing but make him squeeze harder.

“ _I’ll tell you what I found out,_ ” he says, his voice completely distorted now. “ _I found out you’re_ **_nothing_ ** _like the others. You don’t come from the same place. You don’t have a weird, shadowy past. For all intents and purposes, you’re a regular goddamn person, and the only reason your life is so_ **_fucked_ ** _now is because of Stick in the Mud! So_ **_why_** _?_ ”

“Ask _him_ ,” Autumn wheezes.

“ _You think I haven’t tried?_ ” HABIT snarls. He pauses a moment and inhales deeply through his nose, using the hand that is not gripping her throat to push his baseball cap slightly back on his head. His eyes close briefly, and he seems to calm himself. When he speaks again, the distortion is gone from his voice. “That’s the weird thing, here, Autumn. Stick in the Mud doesn’t seem to fuckin’ know!”

The news is a shock. Autumn’s mouth drops open, and any comeback she was formulating is obliterated in light of this news.

Years.

The Tall Man been stalking her for years.

He caused the death of her parents and the only man she’s ever loved.

Because she’s fucking _special._

_And he doesn’t even know why._

HABIT is watching her carefully, watching the emotions play across her face. His hand is still at her throat, but the grip has loosened significantly.

“Yeah,” he says and sighs, mock-empathetic. “Yeah, Autumn.” He chuckles. “I can see you’re not entirely thrilled by that answer.”

“He doesn’t _know_?” she reiterates, breathless, reeling.

“Nope!” he replies. “Ain’t that just a riot? Your meeting was apparently a total coincidence! And, much like our little experience in that bathroom—you remember that? Yeah? Fun, wasn’t it? Yeah, much like me, when our tall acquaintance found out he couldn’t, uh, let’s say _penetrate_ the lovely Autumn Penderghast, or—or your mind, rather—he was understandably concerned.” HABIT grins. “The rest is history.”

“So all of this,” Autumn says, her voice shaking with fury, “my entire _life_ being _destroyed_ by you fuckers, and no one even has a _reason_?”

HABIT regards her, finally releasing her throat but not backing off. Instead his arms circle around her waist and he shifts back and forth on his feet, breathing deeply through his nose, settling into a more comfortable position. It’s intimate—you could even call it an embrace if you were an idiot—and Autumn is suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that she is wearing nothing but a tanktop and underwear. With everything going on, she’d completely forgotten how undressed she is.

HABIT doesn’t seem to mind—though it is kind of weird that he hasn’t mentioned it. You’d think he’d tease her about it mercilessly, and he has to have noticed her state of undress—his eyes have certainly raked across her body more than once. But he hasn’t said anything.

He presses against her, his hips bracing her back against the wall, and leans back to look into her eyes. His hands come up to cup either side of her neck—it sounds tender, but it’s actually insanely  patronizing. He makes a face like _Oh you poor thing,_  and grins when she sneers at it.

“I can understand,” he says, “if that’s not something you wanna hear. I can understand you being a _little bit disappointed.”_  His hands leave her to gesture enthusiastically around her head. “I mean, it’s so anticlimactic! No answers. No...solutions. You lost your parents, you lost your boyfriend, your social life is _depressingly_ empty, you’re cooped up here with only a fucking cat to talk to—present company excluded. And it’s all essentially on the whim of some...faceless buzzkill. And there’s no objective! You probably thought, ‘Okay, I’m fucked, but at least he wants to use me for some…” He chuckles, shakes his head, and cups her neck again. “...far-reaching world domination scheme. There’s gotta be a reason!’ Am I right?”

“I _thought_ ,” Autumn snarls, “he’d have _some_ kind of point.”

HABIT pouts mockingly and rocks her head back and forth in his hands.

“You thought wrong,” he says. And it’s so fucking _patronizing,_ and it’s all so _unfair,_ and Autumn can’t help the flood of fury burning through her, incinerating her nerve endings, and suddenly she’s pushing him away from her, shoving him off  _hard,_  and he’s letting go with a look of bemusement, and she’s walking toward the door. Just to get out, just to get away.

She’s almost out of her bedroom when she realizes what she just did, and she simultaneously realizes he’s murdered people for _far_ less. Her steps slow, hesitate, then pick up again, thinking, _maybe he’ll just let me get away with it._

As if in direct response to her thoughts—though he’s demonstrated time and again that he can’t read her mind—Autumn hears HABIT snicker and say, “Yeah, right.”

He seizes her hair in one fist and tugs her back against him, forcing a cry of pain and surprise from her. His other arm—strong, defined and warm—wraps firmly around her waist, an iron bar across her belly. He wrenches her head back, exposing the pale column of her neck, and she’s expecting him to speak, or bite, or slice, _something._  

But he doesn’t. She feels him start to open his mouth—but nothing comes out.

Instead, HABIT goes still—a tense, rigid stillness, but stillness nonetheless. He remains silent. Autumn feels his breath on her neck, hot and slow, before he turns his head slightly, curiously, and his nose touches her ear. It lingers there, and she can feel the heat from his mouth as it opens, taking in her scent, the humidity of his breath. And it’s so intimate, so sexual, she wishes he would just slide his tongue along her skin.

Autumn huffs, moves slightly against him, forgets where they are and who he is and the hostility between them only seconds before. She turns her face slightly toward his, not wanting to break this glorious tension, and she feels his hand against her stomach clench, balling up her shirt, then unclench and spread his fingers wide. Slowly—slower than she’d ever expect from him—he moves his hand down to slide under the hem of her tank top, so close to brushing the line of her underwear she almost moans. He rests his palm on the skin of her stomach, and it’s casual, leisurely, as if she won’t notice. As if she isn’t paying _very_ close attention to everything he does with his hands.

The press of their flesh together is no less intense than it’s always been—Autumn’s just getting used to it now. Which, thank god, because she feels like reacting to him would only serve to embarrass her. She wonders what he’s thinking, what’s got him so still and silent. It couldn’t be _her,_ could it? Does he actually feel this energy between them? On one hand, she’s relatively sure it’s all in her head—some disgusting fixation, because her brain isn’t quite fucked up enough and she needs another complex, thanks.

On the other hand, she can’t imagine him _not_ feeling it.

“I, uh…” HABIT’s voice is low, raspy, a croak, and the heat of his breath in her ear sends goosebumps erupting down her spine. He doesn’t finish his sentence though, maybe takes another second to collect himself. He allows ringing silence to echo around them for a few eternal moments.

Then HABIT tugs her hair to the side, forcibly tilting her head. The action moves her ear from his mouth, opens up her neck to him fully, and Autumn hisses in surprise. She’s sure she’s about to feel his teeth against her jugular, ripping.

“ _I’m wondering something,_ ” he snarls. His voice is suddenly furious, and fully distorted for some reason. Did she really piss him off that much by simply walking away? Or is it something else? “ _Do you think for a second that I won’t slaughter you where you stand, rip you open, spread your guts on the ceiling? Do you think just because you’re_ **_interesting_** _, you get a free pass to act like a fucking_ **_retard_** _?”_

Yeah, actually, now that he mentions it, maybe that was a stupid assumption.

“ _I want you to_ **_think._** ” HABIT’s hand releases her hair and moves away for a moment. When it returns, his fingers are curled around the handle of huge bowie knife, blade stained brown with blood. Autumn gasps. “ _Because I’m all too aware how easy it is for your kind to get into grooves, form patterns. Habits.”_ He chuckles darkly. _“I’m aware how tempting that’s gotta be. To just...act like it’s normal. Like it’s safe. Like it’s_ **_all_ ** _just a routine. Especially when, in your case, all these big, scary monsters have never really hurt a hair on your pretty fuckin’ scalp, right?_ ” He pauses, and Autumn doesn’t respond, and he presses the blade of the knife against her neck, hard. His head turns, his face presses against her temple, and he snarls the next word directly into her ear. “ **_Right?_** ”

“Right,” Autumn whispers, closing her eyes.

“ _Right_ ,” HABIT continues. “ _But I’m a new kinda monster, Autumn. And I don’t give a flying_ **_shit_ ** _how interesting you are. How many secrets you have, how much it wants to unravel you. If you act like a fucking dog, I will kill you like a dog, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself._ ” He laughs, and she feels him shifting, pressing his forehead against her hair and sighing in a long-suffering kind of way. His voice is normal when he speaks again. “Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” Autumn says, wanting nothing but to get the knife away from her throat.

“Good!” HABIT says. “Now apologize. Say, ‘Sorry, HABIT.’”

“Sorry, HABIT,” Autumn says, teeth clenched. HABIT wheezes a delighted laugh and finally moves back, taking the knife with him, giving her some space. She spins around to face him, not wanting to let him out of her sight again.

“Having said that,” HABIT says, examining the knife he holds, toying idly with the blade between his fingertips, “I like your spunk. I like that we could _learn_ some shit from ya, _decipher_ ya. Who knows what kind of shit we’ll find out! I like the... _potential._ ” His eyes travel up and down her body, and his grin widens. “And I’ll be the first to admit, I like the way your ass fills out those panties.” Autumn rolls her eyes, hugging her arms around herself, and he snickers wildly, pushing his knife back into its sheath at his hip. “Destroying a body like that—that’d be a fuckin’ crime.” He throws back his head and looks at the ceiling, sighing deeply. “No, Autumn,” he says, “I’m not gonna kill ya.” Then he meets her eye and grins that sharp, crooked grin. “Not tonight.”

“Um...Thanks,” Autumn says. HABIT rolls his eyes, turning back to the bed and reaching down to pick up Binx. Autumn lets it happen, somehow less nervous about it. She doesn’t doubt this monster could kill the cat if he wanted to, she just...Somehow, she thinks he doesn’t want to.

HABIT holds the tiny animal and toys gently with his little paws, bringing him up to his face with a curiously innocent expression of affection. _Maybe he just likes cats._

“So…” Autumn says after a moment, and HABIT’s gray eyes flick toward her. “I mean...Don’t take this the wrong way. With all due respect and stuff. But...What are you doing here then?”

“I’m glad you asked!” HABIT says instantly, dropping Binx on the bed. Fully awake now, the cat shoots away, which is a relief. “I was wondering when you would. You’re not the world’s greatest host, are ya? I come for a visit, expecting to be wined and dined, and what do I get? Insolence, back-talk...Storming out. Plus you’re half-dressed, clearly not ready for company. It’s pretty fucked up.” He’s animated again, talking fast. She’s starting to think this might be “cheerful HABIT,” though it’s no less scary or dangerous than “angry HABIT.”

All the same, Autumn can’t help but laugh a little. It’s a joke. He’s making a joke—she thinks. He’s trying to be funny. It’d be rude not to laugh.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling. HABIT notices, stops, narrows his eyes and leans back to examine her. Then he nods.

“Apology accepted!” he says, pointing at her. Then he chuckles. “Good job with that. I like it. Keep in mind who you’re dealing with.” He nods to himself, satisfied, and thinks for a moment before tilting his head to one side. “What were we talking about?”

“You were about to tell me—”

“Why I’m here! Right. Right.” HABIT takes a deep, calming breath and comes forward, hands outstretched as if he wants her to put her palms in his. She doesn’t. “Autumn. I have a thing—you may have seen it—a _game._  My game. My rules. I call it the Seven Trials of HABIT. It’s pretty great. And it’s a game where I get a bunch of fuckers online—I call ‘em rabbits—and I get ‘em to do fucked up shit for me. They’re total fuckin’ idiots.” He snickers, clearly beyond pleased with himself. “And it’s so fuckin’ fun.” He smiles at her, almost dreamily, and raises his eyebrows. “Anyway. I’ve been playing along. I’m not above that. They don’t know that, but I’m not above it. I’m rabbit number two-hundred-whatever, and they haven’t even fucking _guessed._  But I figure, if they can do it, I can fuckin’ do it. Right? Like it’s hard. It’s just tasks, just stupid shit. Bury your most precious belonging. Lose a friend. Shit like that. Fuckers whine so much, you’d think I’m asking them to kill their fuckin’ mothers.

“Now, see, the trial we’re on, at this point in time, trial 5, it involves another person. It involves giving a gift to another person. And since my only friends now are a horrible, deformed dog...thing and a fucking faceless twig, I’ve decided to give that gift...to you.”

Autumn blinks, surprised, as HABIT reaches inside the flannel jacket he’s wearing and withdraws, of all things, a delicate glass rose.

“Yeah,” he says. “Here it is. Picked it out especially for you.”

It is beautifully wrought and clearly bought with her in mind—the stem and every ethereal leaf is painted silver, the intricate petals painted black. It’s lovely. Autumn wonders exactly what his game is, here.

HABIT examines the rose for a second, mouth pursed, head tilted, then looks up to her and raises his eyebrows, handing it over. She takes it carefully between two fingers, watching him warily, but he only nods and gestures at her, as if to say _There. It’s yours._

“I…” Autumn says slowly, finally looking down at it, taking a moment to appreciate how fine and fragile it really is. “Uh...Thanks.”

“No problem!” HABIT says. “Can I see it?”

Autumn glances up at him. “What?”

“Can I—Can I just, can I see it, just one...Just one sec…”

“Yeah, sure...” Autumn says, sure now that something is afoot.

“Thanks, yeah, I’ll get it right back to ya,” HABIT says, voice shaking with laughter. Then he plucks the rose from her hand, nods at it...and crushes it in his fist.

Autumn’s shoulders slump. She doesn’t know what she expected.

HABIT is laughing at her flat expression, at the way she rolls her eyes, at the glass dust on the ground and the blood in his fist where all those tiny shards dug into his flesh.

“What the hell was the point of that?” Autumn sighs, wishing he would just get out of her house already. HABIT shrugs.

“Just something to do,” he replies, still laughing. He points at her. “You should see your fucking face.” Reaching down, he wipes his hand all over her comforter, smearing blood and shards of black glass everywhere. Autumn watches him, utterly resigned.

“Okay,” she says. “Are we done?”

“Yeah,” HABIT sighs, smiling and shaking his head. He barks a laugh. “We’re fuckin’ done.”

Seemingly a man of his word, HABIT places a hand on his hat, glances around one last time, and starts heading toward her bedroom door. Autumn steps back to let him by, and he saunters past, looking around the room.

“This really is a nice place,” he says, more to himself than anything. “Maybe I’ll drop by every so often. See the cat.” The look he throws her over his shoulder is sly and smiling, expecting to see horror in her eyes. So Autumn does everything she can to keep the panic she feels from her face.

Instead, she says, “You’re welcome any time.”

HABIT’s eyes narrow for an instant before his lips spread into a huge grin and he snickers. He shakes his head and turns back to the door, waving her off.

“You’re a fuckin’ piece of work,” he says, leaving the room. “Later, gorgeous!”

And he disappears around the corner.

Autumn stands still in her room long after she hears him tromp down the stairs. Long after the front door opens and swings shut behind him. Long after the house goes quiet and Binx comes in to check on her.

She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to scream into the night sky. She wants to curl up in a ball. She wants to feel his hands on her again.

Instead, she just cleans up the glass and pours herself more wine.

She can’t figure out what she’s feeling.

But she knows it’s not good.


	5. Like Heroin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains sexually explicit content. So maybe don't read it in public. Unless you're into that.
> 
> Thank you for your time.

After HABIT’s visit, as if suddenly remembering his stake in her life, the Tall Man ramps up his antics.

It isn’t so bad at first. She’s used to catching glimpses of him outside her window, and now it’s just happening every night again. He’s on her front lawn a lot, or in her backyard, usually after midnight. He mostly keeps his distance, never speaks. Just watches. Same old song. _Play something new, Skinny._

One night, Autumn wakes up thirsty and heads downstairs for a glass of water. As she’s filling up her glass at the kitchen sink, she pulls the window curtain aside and peers into the night, checking for any faceless monsters. She’s pleasantly surprised, however, to find out he’s not out there. The yard is empty.

“Hm,” she mutters, then swallows the rest of her water. She’s almost smiling. It’s good to see nothing but trees and darkness. It’s refreshing.

Autumn deposits her glass in the sink, closes the curtain again and turns around, ready for a comfortable night for once.

Except the Tall Man is standing in her kitchen.

He’s over by the door, half-hidden in the shadows, and only once she sees him does Autumn feel his presence. The staticky, hair-prickling, watched feeling.

Autumn screams.

The Tall Man doesn’t move, but Autumn does. Acting without thought, only knowing every cell in her body is screaming at her to get away, she sprints out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into her bedroom. In another instant she is slamming the door and pushing a chair under the knob, as if that will keep him out. Then she is curled up in bed under her covers, and Binx comes over and nudges her hand, and for some reason tears just start bubbling up, running down her cheeks, and then she is sobbing, just crying as hard as she can, for a long time. Everything comes crashing down—the total fuckery of her world. The death of her loved ones. How alone she is. How the only company she’s had for weeks is a tall, silent home intruder.

It’s all _so_ fucked.

She bawls herself to sleep.

* * *

In the days that follow, what was once a seemingly benign presence now becomes a terror. You have to remember—before now, the Tall Man never actually entered Autumn’s house. She figured he worked on, like, vampire rules or something.

She doesn’t know why she assumed that. Of course it would turn out that he could invade her space at any time. The idea is horrifying. Because perhaps he has, who knows how often? Perhaps he stands over her every night, watching her sleep.

Autumn hates that idea. She falls asleep with the lights on for a few nights. She paces restlessly after dark, peers around corners, double-checks door locks. She’s sure he’ll be standing there.

And one night, he is.

It’s late. Autumn gets out of bed for a glass of water, but decides she might as well have a midnight snack too. After scooping herself some ice cream, she decides she’s too awake now, and she might as well watch some TV. She scoops up her cat—now a bit bigger than last we saw him—and heads toward the couch. She rounds the corner into the living room, in a fairly good mood, Binx in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other...only to see the Tall Man standing in the flickering electric light of a staticky television.

So, of course, she drops the ice cream and clings to her cat for dear life.

“What do you _want_?” she cries, the words flying out of her mouth in lieu of a shriek of terror.

And, as usual, his response is, _Come._

_Jesus fucking..._ Autumn wants to scream now, to throw something at him, but she already dropped her ice cream and she’s not sacrificing the cat. She’s so frustrated and tired she can barely stand it. Eighteen fucking years. It’s almost tempting to just do it, just give in. Just so it stops...

Autumn freezes, suddenly realizing something that might be game changing, and stares up at the Tall Man with hard eyes. Binx is freaking out, trying to squirm out of her arms, but she’ll be damned if she lets the kitten go. Her arms are the only place she knows he’s safe.

“Are you…” she says to the Tall Man, and her voice is almost not even shaking. “Are you trying to wear me down? Are you trying to fucking _break_ me?”

_Patient,_ comes the Tall Man’s response. _Ever-patient._

“Well _fuck you!_ ” Autumn hisses. “You can be as patient as you want. I’m _never_ coming with you.”

The Tall Man is silent und unmoving in the TV’s weird, flickering grow. His tentacles are poised to strike behind his head she sees, and she wonders when that happened. She didn’t see them come out—they’re just _there_ now.

He’s got none of that smooth, dapper air anymore. None of the magic or mystery which so enchanted her as a child. Like this, standing in her living room at night, he doesn’t look like anything but a monster.

“You know what’s hard?” Autumn says. “Manipulating someone who _knows_ you’re trying to manipulate them. You might as well give up, Skinny! You lose!”

When the tentacle moves, she doesn’t see that either. But it does. Suddenly it’s around her throat, and she’s being lifted forcibly upwards until her toes are barely skimming the ground. Binx drops to the ground and runs for dear life. Autumn’s hands fly up to try to pull it away, and she has a moment to wonder at the texture of it—the closest she can come to describe it is if shadow or smoke were given corporeal form. But mostly she’s thinking about how little air is getting into her lungs, and the weird choking noises coming unbidden from her mouth.

The Tall Man’s face is suddenly close to hers, looking down upon her expressionlessly.

_I lose?_ he asks. She’s never heard him sarcastic before, but that’s the tone. Mocking. Malicious. Maybe he’s been spending some time around HABIT. _I lose?!_

She’s more scared of him now than she’s ever been. It’s like he’s throwing aside all pretext. Letting his true... _personality_ come out. Leveling with her, in a way.

_I can make this unutterably worse for you, girl,_ he says. _You think you’ve lost everything? You think I’ve taken_ ** _anything_** _from you?_ There’s a weird hissing sound in her head, and she realizes it’s him laughing. _You’ve no_ ** _idea_** _what I can take._

Autumn manages to smile. And even though she can barely draw breath, she finds the strength to talk.

“You can’t control me,” she wheezes. “You can’t do anything but kill me.”

It’s the truth, she knows. And he knows it, too. It seems to piss him off, in fact. He starts...vibrating. Resonating. Him and his tentacles and the very air around them. It’s the rattle of a venomous snake, a dangerous warning. And Autumn’s scared, of course she is—but she’s also right. The Tall Man can’t do anything to her—he can’t possess her or bully her or take anyone else away. All he can really do is kill her. And he doesn’t want to do that. Not until he figures out what she is.

_You’re right_ , he says, _killing you seems to be my only choice._  And there’s such malice in his voice, Autumn’s stomach drops. He lifts her further off the ground, and she’s hanging now, just dangling like a piece of meat. And she thinks that maybe, as usual, she overestimated her importance to him.

Autumn feels the tentacle around her throat tighten.

And tighten.

And tighten.

And with the last bit of oxygen left in her brain, she manages to think, _That was stupid. Of course he’s going to kill me. Why would he let me live?_

And just as the whiteness at the edge of her vision threatens to push its way over her pupils, the lights in the house buzz and blink. She feels the Tall Man pause, his tentacle hesitate and loosen slightly. The tiniest bit of air gets into her lungs, and Autumn finds her fight again, ripping at his shadowy appendage with her nails, squirming and tearing with everything inside of her.

The Tall Man is distracted—his head is turned away, and he doesn’t even glance at her again. The lights flicker again, and under the weird hum of electricity she hears distorted laughter. And her heart leaps, then plummets, because why the fuck would she ever get excited that _HABIT_ is here?

He’s here nonetheless. Every light in the house snaps itself off, besides the weird static of the TV, and—she doesn’t know how to explain this—but she _feels_ him appear behind her. Just force himself through a couple dimensional barriers, and suddenly he’s there, accompanied by the sharp smell of ozone.

“I thought we fuckin’ talked about this,” he says calmly, evidently to the Tall Man, and suddenly Autumn is on the ground, gasping. The Tall Man towers over her, impassively staring toward HABIT. She can’t hear his response, but apparently he said something, because HABIT replies, “Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your fuckin’ pants.”

Autumn turns then, her hand at her aching throat, and catches a glimpse of him—grinning, bloodstained, vicious. He glances at her quickly, his gray eyes flashing before they return to the Tall Man.

“I understand the urge,” he says. “And you know I’m always game for a little carnage. But you said you’d leave it to me, and—” His eyes flick toward Autumn again, and he seems to reconsider saying anything in front of her. “Uh...let’s talk about this in private.”

And the Tall Man is suddenly gone. HABIT rounds on her quickly, and Autumn scrambles away from him, as far as she can before her back meets the coffee table. He drops easily to his haunches in front of her and reaches out to roughly grip her chin on one of his warm, coarse hands. He turns her head side to side, examining her neck, then rocks back with a satisfied nod.

“Alright,” he says, looking down, “uh, _that_ was stupid.” He meets her eyes and grins. “And I know you’re not stupid. Well, actually, I don’t. I don’t know that.” He rises to his feet, gesticulating animatedly. “Every single _fuckin’_ piece of evidence, actually, tells me that you _are_ in fact a fucking idiot. But.” He takes off his cap, pushes back his hair, and sneers down at her. “You’ve got something—I don’t know, maybe it’s the way you talk. Or—or your eyes. But it gives me hope that you’re not actually as much of a fucking idiot as I’ve been lead to believe, I mean…” He laughs, shakes his head. “Talking back to it? _Challenging_ it? Seriously?”

“Won’t happen again,” Autumn croaks, wondering if any lasting damage was done to her vocal cords. HABIT looks down at her and rolls his eyes.

“You’re damn right it won’t,” he says. “You’ll be dead before you get two words out. Oh! And—and don’t get used to this fuckin’ Batman act. Swooping in—” He spreads his wings, pretending to glide down. “Saving the fucking day. I know how it looks. But It’s not _about_ you. At all. Trust me.”

“I wouldn’t trust you,” Autumn replies, “as far as I can fucking throw you.”

HABIT snickers. “See? Not a complete fuckin’ idiot.” His grin lingers on her for a few second before he sighs and puts his hat back on. “Well,” he says wistfully. “I have a meeting to attend.”

And the TV flickers again, then pops into darkness. And when Autumn finally finds a lighter on the table and flicks it to illuminate the room, HABIT is gone.

He says it’s not about her.

But the fact of the matter is, HABIT just fucking SAVED her.

Great. Because she wasn’t confused already.

* * *

Something changes after that.

She’s not sure what kind of deal they have going, but Autumn isn’t bothered by the Tall Man again for weeks. And while she’s not complaining, it also seems pretty ominous. HABIT’s words were, “You said you’d leave it to me.” And if that prospect isn’t terrifying, she doesn’t know what is. She hates the thought that they’re just passing her between them. And she’s not sure whose hands would be worse—HABIT or the Tall Man.

HABIT murdered her mother. But he also saved her from her...while causing the death of her father.

The Tall Man killed Aaron. And he was the reason her mother went crazy. So he was technically the reason her father died. Actually, come to it, he was the reason _any_ of this was happening.

So now that we’re thinking about it, yeah. Autumn knows who’s worse.

HABIT may be violent and unpredictable, but _he’s_ not the one who started this. She doubts he’d be nearly as interested in her if not for the fucking Tall Man. _He’s_ the real problem—or, as HABIT said, “ _it_.” It’s not human, so it’s not a man. It’s a monster. She’ll never forget that again.

After a few weeks of his absence, Autumn slips into...well, not comfort. But as close to it as she can get. There’s no Tall Man. No HABIT. Nothing at all of note happens, for a while.

Until something does.

* * *

One night, long after midnight, Autumn snaps awake with a gasp. It only takes a split second to figure out what’s wrong. Someone is sitting on her hips, straddling her, his knees pressed firmly into the mattress. She blinks, strains to see through the darkness who is intruding in her bedroom. But even before her eyes can adjust to make out his frame, his raspy laugh gives him away.

“HABIT...” she mutters and rests her head back against the pillow in defeat. It’s been a few weeks since she last saw him, but she doesn’t know why she didn’t immediately guess.

“The one and only!” he exclaims. He shifts backwards, stretching his arms behind his head. Lets out a satisfied groan. “Miss me, gorgeous?”

“Like a hole in my head,” Autumn mutters, squirming uncomfortably beneath him. He pushes down against her in return, chuckling.

“Sorry about the rude awakening,” he says. She hears the smile in his voice, sees the glint of his white teeth in the dim light just below the black void under the brim of his hat. “I just couldn’t stay away, y’know what I’m sayin’? Just had to see you.” He waves his fingers crazily by his temples. “It’s weird, your face just keeps runnin’ through my skull.” The sentence ends on a growl and he clenches his fist like he’s holding back some consuming rage. His voice is gravelly, distorted. “Like a _craving_ . Like an _itch_ I can’t _scratch_.” Suddenly his tone becomes less serious, higher pitched and mocking. “The monkey on my back! It's annoying.” The sudden shift is off-putting, but she supposes she’ll have to get used to that. HABIT is rarely still or unchanging.

He takes a moment to inhale deeply through his nose. Like he’s calming himself, though Autumn can’t imagine he’s anything but calm. And he’s leaning down now, his warm, solid torso pressing firmly against hers, his calloused hands running down her arms to her wrists. He takes them gently and places them over her head. Autumn doesn’t resist. She vaguely feels the long hunting knife in its sheath at his beltline and tells herself that’s the only reason she’s letting him do this. _That, and the crazy energy when our skin touches. Which, by the way...wow._

He’s never touched her like this before, she realizes. He’s grabbed her and pushed her against walls and held her still, but he’s never full-on _straddled_ her before, much less laid on top of her. Autumn thinks she should be complaining, but...she’s really not.

“What I did, is I dropped by,” he continues, shrugging. “I was in the neighborhood and I…wanted to see you. Wanted to get my fix.”

He slides down her body while he talks, slowly, firmly. Fully laying on her now, warm and heavy and irrefutable. She feels the coarse fabric of his jeans against her sides, where her tank top has ridden up. His cotton t-shirt seems painfully thin—she can feel every firm plane of his defined torso, his chest against where her nipples are straining through her clothes. He’s breathing roughly near her ear, and every rush of hot air sends goosebumps racing up her back.

He chuckles into her hair at her silence, the tensing of her muscles. His fingers dig into her wrists as he scootches a little down her body, bringing their bellies closer together. His crotch pushes against hers now, and she can’t tell if that’s his belt buckle or the beginnings of an erection. Is HABIT a sexual creature, she wonders for the hundredth time. If he is, does that sexuality extend to humans? Seems unlikely, she decides. But she’s not sure.

“You make me sound like heroin,” Autumn says, horrified at how breathy her voice is as she arches her back to try and force his weight away.

“Yeah,” HABIT cackles, his chapped lips nuzzling her neck. “Yeah, that’s a good way of puttin’ it, Autumn. You kinda—I don’t know, what’s that word, uh… _fascinate_ me, yeah, that’s it. You’re _fascinatin’_ and shit. Can’t get in your _head._ ” He leans back to make eye contact, and she thanks Christ because it keeps his breath from her ear, her neck. “And I’m not really used to that.” HABIT tilts his head at her, examining her face as a sharp smile spreads across his mouth. “Makes a guy want to. Makes a guy _curious._ ” He releases a wrist to tap a finger against his temple. “What’s up _therre?_ ” He shrugs, rearing back to sit on her again and looks around the dark bedroom. “Stick in the Mud knows what I’m talkin’ about. I mean, shit, that’s why he _chose_ you in the first place. Why he… _follows_ you. Stalks you. Keeps you alive. Even though we can’t _use_ you.”

Autumn nods. He’s told her that before, not that she hadn’t guessed it. A blessing and a curse, to draw interest but to be immune to influence.

“Um, _but_ ,” HABIT continues, taking off his cap briefly to push his shaggy hair back from his forehead. “Recently, as you might remember, he’s gotten a bit, let’s say, _fed up_ with your bullshit. And back when I so fucking _heroically_ intervened with him on your behalf—” He pauses, grinning. “You remember that?”

Oh, now he wants some credit.

“Yes,” Autumn says. “It was only a couple weeks ago. I fucking remember.”

“Good! Good. Excellent.” HABIT snickers, self-satisfied. “Anyway, _that_ was back when I still had a few leads, a few... _avenues t_ o go down. To figure out what your _deal_ is. Except, Autumn, wouldn’t ya know it? Every single fuckin’ one of them turned out to be garbage!”

Autumn turns her face to the side to hide from his enthusiasm, but he turns her back to him quickly.

“So! You really do seem to be fucking useless,” he says gleefully. “And all that shit about heroin and fascination aside, _I’m_ kinda left with a serious fuckin’ quandary here.” A smile spreads across his face, widening. “If I can’t _use_ you, why the _fuck_ should you get to live?” His words turn into a growl, gutteral and vicious, distorting into his true voice. One of his hands abruptly closes around her throat. Smile falls away. Autumn gasps, genuinely startled this time.

“What's special about ya?” he continues. “That's what I keep askin’ myself. Keep thinkin’, ‘HABIT, why should _this_ girl—of _all_ people—why should _she_ get the right, the _privilege_ , to live out her life in uh,” he looks around the sparse bedroom, shrugs, “relative comfort. Relative…safety. ‘Specially given that you might turn out to be a threat, or—or at least a wildcard. Unpredictable. Unable to…be _controlled._ ” He gives her a significant look, adjusting the brim of his hat. “See, you're a pawn, Autumn. One _piece_ on an enormous game board with a thousand other moving pieces, the reach of which you can't even begin to comprehend.” He's animated, his hands moving and circling and restlessly fluttering. “A very carefully constructed _game._ And it’s a lotta fuckin’ work keepin’ it goin’. We gotta watch every piece, see. Gotta plan and project and…and _strategize. They_ move here, I move there. The rook does this, the queen does that, and it's _all...orchestrated._ ” He nods to himself, satisfied with his metaphor, and glances out the window before returning his gaze to her. “ _So_ , but, thing about you is, you're a rogue. Neither black nor white. No part in either side, but still present. Still… _there._ And, in my humble opinion…” he chuckles darkly. “A _rogue_ pawn should be a _dead_ pawn.”

There is a long moment of silence as they watch each other, predator and prey. All this talk of chess and moving pieces is giving her a headache. It's something she'd guessed and subsequently deeply despises. And she’s afraid, of course she is, but a part of her thinks HABIT doesn’t actually want to murder her. He would have done it already. No. He’s interested to see where this goes, what she’ll do. He likes the spontaneity she brings to this fucked up _game_ of his. He likes that, even though he can’t touch her with his power, neither can the Tall Man. She has potential for him, she knows.

“ _So_ …what d’ya think?” he asks reasonably, expecting an argument for her life. So Autumn decides to use this whole “wildcard” thing to her advantage. Keep him guessing. Keep him on his toes. And maybe she’ll get a little leverage against him.

So, because she can’t think of another thing to do right now, and because a deeply disturbed part of her wants to anyway, Autumn slowly braces herself up on her elbows, reaches forward and simply takes off his cap. She can see his eyes better like this, and she watches a flicker of confusion pass through them. His brow furrows as she tosses the ratty old cap to the side, off the bed. His gaze follows the cap as it falls to the floor. He looks better without it, more handsome. And she can tell the plan worked—she just threw him off.

“The fuck are you doin’?” he mutters, deep irritation coloring his words, still looking at the hat on the floor. Then his eyes flick back to her. “That’s my fuckin’ hat. You don’t just _do_ —you don’t mess with a guy’s hat.”

Autumn watches him ramp up for another monologue, probably about manners or respecting authority or some bullshit. She doesn’t want to give him a chance. Something’s been on her mind a while, a very bad idea when it comes to HABIT. And now seems as a good a time as any to see how he’ll react.

So she leans up, grabs him by the front of the shirt, and pulls him down to kiss him.

His lips are full and soft, even chapped as they are. She opens her mouth against them instantly, a wet, hot kiss that tells him exactly what she wants from him, exactly what she’s offering to keep her life. She feels him react instantly, tense and try to pull away, but she folds her arms around his neck and keeps kissing. Showing him she wants him, really wants him.

And now his shoulders are losing some of that tension, and his mouth is opening against hers, and an ungodly long tongue flicks at her lips. He’s chuckling harshly against her mouth, taking control of the kiss, one hand fisting violently in her hair. He tugs, ripping her away from him.

Autumn inhales sharply. She liked kissing him. _Really_ liked it, more than she should. Some serious sparks just went off, infinitely better than just the touch of his hand. She knows he felt it this time, with such stark clarity it almost feels like _she_ read _his_ mind. And while she can't fathom how or why, she does know one thing for sure.

She wants more.

He takes a long moment to tilt his head, squinting at her. Then he laughs that chittery, distorted snicker and bounces up and down on his knees. But it dies quickly, and he tilts his head back to expose the long column of his neck, cracking the bones in his spine. He’s still smiling when he brings his face level again, but his eyes look angry.

“Well, hey! Look at you, Miss Friendly! That was cute, that was real sweet. But, uh, _I_ got a question for ya,” he says. “Autumn. Doll Face.” And he lunges at her, bringing their bodies flush again, their faces so close she can feel every burst of his breath. His smile is gone, teeth bared. Heavy distortion taints every syllable. “ _Did you just have a fuckin’_ ** _aneurism_** _? Huh? Has your fragile little_ ** _mind_** _snapped_ _under all this pressure? Have you_ ** _forgotten_** _who the fuck_ ** _I_** **_am_** _??_ ”

“I know exactly who you are,” Autumn says, somehow keeping her voice steady, strong, sure. She doesn’t know how—he’s terrifying so close, so angry. But he pauses nonetheless, once more thrown off by the lack of emotion in her tone. _Keep his interest. Play the wildcard._  “You’re HABIT. And that’s the point.”

She pushes past his resistance, his hand tugging at her hair, and leans forward to press her lips against his again. He grunts, a masculine noise of arousal, his mouth opens against her, and it tells her all she needs to know about what he wants. He wants her to fear him, yes—and fear him she does—and he dislikes her advances because he thinks it might mean she doesn’t. But he also wants her, the same way she wants him. He likes that she surprises him, he said so himself. She’s sure—she’s absolutely positive—he’s got all the pros and cons of this racing through his skull. Contemplating how he can turn this—her persistence, her attraction—to his advantage. So let him. The longer he thinks he’ll be able to use her, the longer she’ll stay alive.

He doesn’t let the kiss go on long, though. Again, his fingers tighten in her hair and he rips her away, this time throwing her back onto the pillow. He passes a hand down his face, mouth open, looking annoyed. He’s drawn in by these curveballs she’s throwing, but he doesn’t like that he can’t pop into her mind to figure out her game. And it’s so fucking stupid, because it’s _not_ a game. All her thoughts about survival and unpredictability aside, Autumn wouldn’t have kissed him if she didn’t want him. Of course she wants him. He’s a _god_ , probably, or as close to one as she can think of. Who wouldn’t want a being like that?

_I’m definitely fucked up,_ she thinks and decides she doesn’t care. He’s run through her fantasies relentlessly since meeting him at that bar. So if showing him this truth keeps his knife from her throat, she’ll see what she can get out of it. He hasn’t even reached for his weapon, come to it. He sounds pissed, yeah, but if this isn’t working, why hasn’t he just killed her already?

Jesus. She really hopes she understands this transdimensional being as well as she thinks she does. HABIT is complex, intelligent and vicious—no doubt about that. But she’s starting to think his personality isn’t so far removed from humanity as to be incomprehensible to her. He seems to understand humans. What’s stopping a human from understanding him?

“I get it,” HABIT says, watching her. He’s serious, irritated, but in no time that smirk is tugging at the corner of his mouth, forming dimples in his cheek. “Yeah. I get it.” He chuckles, pointing at her. “You’re tryin’ to distract me. Givin’ me a reason not to fuckin’ flay your skin from all your little _bones._ Clever. Clever, clever kid, aren’tcha?”

“God,” Autumn snarls. “That’s not even _close._ ” She’s lying. It _is_ close—of course that’s part of it—but it’s not all of it. And how will he tell? Autumn’s always been one hell of a liar.

HABIT’s eyebrows raise, his grin widens. So Autumn sighs. “Christ, HABIT. If you want to that bad, just fucking kill me already. I don’t want you to, obviously—I’ve got enough self-preservation. I’m not suicidal, as we’ve discussed, and I’m not fucking _excited_ by the prospect of being tortured by you for hours. But if that’s the only endgame you have in mind, just fucking start the show already. Because if I only wanted to delay the inevitable, I wouldn’t have kissed you. I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

“Can we get to the fuckin’ point here?” HABIT growls.

“You’re hot,” Autumn says simply, and watches his eyebrows pop up his forehead again. His head turns slightly to one side, lending her an ear, watching her from the corners of his eyes. Autumn huffs, figuring she’s already said this much. Might as well spill all the beans. “I think you’re sexy and bad and inhuman, and some primal part of me likes that about you.” She shrugs, as if it means nothing. As if her heart isn’t pounding from her chest. As if she isn’t getting wetter with every shift of his groin against hers. “So can we stop fucking around already? I do not have time for it. Make a choice.”

HABIT’s chuckling now, shaking his head like he can’t fucking believe his ears. “Well shit! You _are_ fuckin’ crazy,” he says, twirling his finger near his ear. “Aren’tcha? All that time ‘round Stick in the Mud’s melted your fuckin’ _mind._ ” He regards her for a long moment, contemplating. He licks his lips.

“Maybe,” Autumn says, reaching up to place a hand on his solid chest. “Still want you.” She slowly slides her fingers down his firm abdomen, feeling the warmth of his flesh underneath. He _feels_ human. Why does she like that he isn’t?

HABIT slaps her hand away when it reaches his belt buckle, chuckling wheezily. He throws back his head, sighing deeply, and she can’t tell if he thinks she’s an idiot or if she tempts him. Maybe both. But he seems to make a decision, because in the next moment he’s leaning down over her and bracing himself on an elbow beside her head. He shifts his body so that their torsos connect firmly, and their crotches are pressed together, and she’s sure now that he’s aroused. He exhales loudly through his nose, a satisfied kind of noise, and he rolls his hips, grinding against her panties through his jeans. But it’s more a mockery than anything.

He’s smiling like a knife, touching the tip of his nose against hers. One of his nimble hands drifts down over her shoulder, over her collarbones, slow and firm, like a taunt. Waiting for her to react. Waiting for her to back out. He glances down to the trail his fingers make over her chest and grins fiendishly when the pad of his index sweeps over her nipple, hard as a diamond. He circles his finger over it, feeling it stiffen further, and chuckles breathily, then pinches it.

It’s more shocking than painful, but it sends a spark of electricity up her spine. Autumn gasps, grinds back against him, her knees slowly raising to either side of his slim hips. She wraps her legs around his back and watches his eyebrows furrow, a sneer curling his mouth as he looks back to check. She’s pretty sure he just can’t believe she’s going this far with this. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe her. Which is hilarious, since it’s the most truthful she’s ever gotten with him.

“Alright,” he growls, the sneer becoming a vicious grin as he looks back to her face. His hips roll against her again, long and torturous slow. “I’ll play along.”

His hand squeezes her breast, filling his palm, then rapidly slides down her stomach to slip under her shirt. It travels back up, his skin burning hot, and he cups her breast, rapidly circling his rough pointer finger around her bare nipple. Toys with it between middle and index, bitten-down nails scraping her soft flesh occasionally.

Still smiling, HABIT drops his head to look down at his hand moving under her shirt, watching his own work, seeming to like the view. His mouth opens and his long tongue snakes out—unnaturally long, she sees for sure now—and he leans down to lick teasingly at her collarbone, fluttering, lascivious. His tongue traces down between her cleavage, squirming, flicking, then back up and over the thin cotton of her top. He removes his hand from her breast and slides it down her ribs, under her back, cradling her in a way that’s so firm and warm, it almost feels safe. The tip of that demonically long tongue traces a slow, wet line over the swell of her breast and finally flicks her nipple, covered only by a thin layer of cotton. He squirms a rough circle around her hard bud, and his breath is accelerated, and she looks down at his hair and his compact, gorgeous body over her, and it’s all surreal, like is this happening? What’s he thinking? Is he just fucking with her? Is it expecting too much of him to think he might not be?

And then, grinning, HABIT scrapes his teeth across her nipple once before capturing it between them, nipping, a shock of pain he soothes seconds later by wrapping his lips around it, squirming his tongue against it. Autumn arches against him and moans, tightening her legs around him. She hears him chuckle at her, mocking. He makes an “mmm,” sound, an ironic _do you like that?_ Because he _knows_ she likes that, and he thinks she’s an idiot for it.

She grinds into him and quickly scrapes her long nails up his back, hard enough to leave marks, exposing part of his muscular back just above the waistline of his jeans, and it forces a seemingly real groan through him. She can feel a responsive tremor through his body, and he pauses, his mouth leaves her breast to glance up at her. The smirk is wiped off his face and a crease is etched between his brows, and when she grinds herself against him again and tugs roughly at his hair, he lets out a rough, genuinely stimulated sigh. Autumn laughs huskily.

HABIT responds by shifting up, raising his shoulders by the forearms and settling the entire weight of his lower belly and hips against her. And he flashes her that sudden, brutal smile, because apparently a thought just crossed his mind and he’s determined to gain the advantage again. She can almost watch his mind work—enough letting her force genuine groans from him. No time to get distracted here. This isn’t about him. She watches him remember that, a split-second decision, and then he’s leaning down to capture her full lower lip between his teeth, tugging.

He kisses her, teasing, slow and somehow patronizing, given that he’s still smiling. He shifts to cradle her with his other arm, the entire weight of him settling on top of her, and he slides the opposite hand down the line of her back, over the curve of her ass. He squeezes for a moment, seeming to relish the soft flesh filling his hand, but too soon he’s sweeping his fingers around over her thigh. His middle finger traces the line of her panties between her thighs and up to her waistband, where he pauses. He toys with it, snapping the elastic against her sensitive skin, smiling.

Then he shifts back, once more bracing himself on his knees. His fingertips slide under her panties.

“Whatcha got under here?” he growls, grinning. His fingers brush down, across her smooth mound, skimming her clit, and she’s straining to arch up into his palm, prevented by his hips atop hers. And he laughs at her eagerness and his fingers stop.

“So, now,” he says, his voice formal and ironically serious, playful even. “Autumn. Now, we get to see if you’re _fuckin’ with me._ ” The playfulness drops away in an instant and the last three words are snarled in his true voice. But it only takes a second and he’s smiling again at her frown. She’s so worked up, so wrapped up in him, that she honestly forgot for a moment that he considers this a game, or a trick, or some kind of plan on her part.

He seems to take her expression not as one of confusion but guilt or fear, however, because his smile widens as if he’s just caught her in a lie.

“Yeah. You’re probably aware of this, but the thing about the, uh, female anatomy is…it’ll give you away,” he clicks his teeth in lieu of snapping his fingers, “like _that_ .” He raises his eyebrows at her. “And once we reveal your _lie,_  you’re gonna be in _big_ trouble. Then we can start having a little fun. So.”

Autumn can’t keep the smirk off her face as HABIT laughs cruelly and strokes his middle finger downward, between her slick lips, hooking it into her entrance—wet enough now that there can be no mistake whether or not he turns her on.

Autumn gets the satisfaction of watching surprise cross his face, the pleasure of his long finger inside of her, but he’s rearing upright now, looking down with blatant interest at where her panties are tugged down by his wrist. For a moment he’s curious, almost boyish, and surprised. His palm settles over her smooth mound, his opposite hand clenches and unclenches spontaneously against her back. His entire body tenses, and he rocks back and forth softly on his knees, contemplating this surprising turn of events.

But when he glances at her face and notices she’s watching him, that vicious grin snaps back into place, regaining control. He laughs derisively and slams his finger into her roughly, as deep as he can get. Autumn moans.

“Well, fuck me, right?” he rasps. And he leans down against her again. “You’re fuckin’ _juicy._ ”

He kisses her then, slams his mouth over hers, writhing his tongue roughly into her mouth. Autumn returns it enthusiastically. His finger begins to thrust into her, working up a smooth and steady pace, and his agile thumb finds her clit to rub it hard, fast. His teeth scrape her lips, his breath coming harsh and rapid as he works the opposite hand down her arching back to her bottom. He squeezes her ass, roughly parting her cheeks before hooking his arm under her thigh and forcibly moving her legs further apart. His hand slips up and around to cup the space under her knee, bending it, allowing his warm body further access between her legs. He’s rolling his hips smoothly, and she’s barely registering how hard he is through his jeans. But HABIT is chuckling breathily and groaning against her mouth, into her ear as he moves to flick his tongue at it. Autumn wraps her arms around him as they writhe and groan and rut against each other.

Passion is building and it seems genuine. HABIT seems into it, or she hopes he is. Their bodies work together, complement each other, an outpouring of repressed attraction and desire. It’s scorching and fast and rough and real, the sparks of hatred and chemistry between them finally fanned into a flame even hotter than she’d predicted. The pace of HABIT’s finger inside of her quickens, his hand pistoning back and forth, his thumb flicking her clit at a preternaturally swift pace. Like the best fucking vibrator she’s ever had. And his breath is filling her nose, his grunts of exertion being swallowed into her mouth. His chest is warm and firm against her, his fingers leave bruises against her inner thigh. His kiss turns biting, intense and greedy, ravaging her mouth with the ferocity she expects from him. She runs her hands through his surprisingly soft hair, runs her tongue along his mouth to find he’s still smiling, still baring his teeth, even as his finger pumps itself again and again into her.

She’s moaning and crying out, the sensations almost too intense, and it’s just better because it’s _him,_  HABIT, bringer of pain to so many, bringing pleasure to her. And he seems to like doing this to her, seems involved and aroused, seems to _want_ to be doing it. His dextrous fingers twitch and hook inside of her, his opposite hand gripping at the skin where her hip bone juts against it, and he growls when she bites his lips and tugs his hair. Growls that turn into husky laughter, smothered by her tongue and teeth. Growls that say, _That’s right, do that again._

Autumn cries out, that warm coil in her belly burning hotter, his rapidly thrusting fingers milking forth sensations of bliss so intense they border on pain. She can feel bruises forming on her labia, but the pleasure keeps mounting, especially when HABIT stops kissing her and goes even harder. He leans his forehead against hers, tilting his face slightly to look down at her pussy with a fierce expression, all of his laser-like focus pinpointed directly on what his hand is doing to her. His beautifully defined arm flexes and works to drive his digit into her rapidly, harder, faster.

And she’s feeling an orgasm mount quickly ,and she’s saying, “Fuck, fuck, HABIT” and digging her nails into his scalp. He’s chuckling raspily, and his thumb is moving back and forth at the speed of fucking light, and he’s turning towards her now, turning to watch her face with interest, he’s opening his mouth against hers intimately. Her hips are working back and forth, her mound meeting his palm in rapid pulses, her back arching. And he’s smiling like a knife and whispering, “Yeah, yeah, come on,” and watching her eyes as they close, the wave cresting rapidly, she can feel it in her fucking toes, the edges of an earthquake, and she has a moment to think she’s never cum as hard as she’s about to with HABIT pressed against her, his hair in her face, his mouth against hers.

“HABIT,” she says in a strangled moan, half-swallowed by his full, wet mouth. “HABIT, I’m gonna…”

And suddenly HABIT stops.

He pulls his hand away and shifts down her legs rapidly, so that not even a hint of his pressure is left on her aching core. Autumn takes in a strangled breath, almost crying out in disappointment, a part of her scarcely understanding what is happening, confused by the sudden lack of stimulation. The wave recedes, leaving her aching for more, the antithesis of satisfaction. HABIT looses one of his cruel laughs, high-pitched, mocking, and quickly brings the finger that was inside of her to his mouth, sucking away her wetness with a pop of his lips. Then he climbs off her quickly, bends down and picks up his hat.

“Whaddaya know,” he says jovially, still breathless from exertion. “You’re a little more honest than I gave ya credit for.” He pushes his hair back and places his hat on his head, watching her face go from confusion to understanding to frustration. Autumn glares at him, feels the blood recede from her head, and he snickers at her. “Um, though, unfortunately, I got _shit_ to do.” He grins, malice sparkling in his eyes. “Can’t spend all night,” he gestures crazily, glancing out the window, “ _wrapped_ _up_ in recreation. Got a job to do. Well, jobs, you know what I mean.” He shows her his palms and his rasping voice goes deep and insinuating. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

Yeah, she remembers exactly what kind of devilish work those hands can do, and his grin tells her he knows this. He drops his arms to his sides.

“So. Gotta keep myself busy. Gotta…gotta make _progress_.”

“You’re an asshole,” Autumn says hoarsely, finally finding her voice. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye and smiles.

“Me?” he asks mockingly, placing a hand to his chest. “Why? You’re not _disappointed_ or somethin’, right?” His eyes flick over her, and he pulls a dramatically upset frown, twisting his hands in mock shame. He affects his voice, emphasizing a deep southern drawl. “Ohhh nooo…Are ya mad at me? Did ol’ HABIT letcha down? Well, shucks, I didn’t mean ta!” He laughs, manic again, and Autumn rolls her eyes.

HABIT regards her for a long moment, his head tilted to one side, smirking and studying, before he leans down to kiss her quickly on the mouth and pull away. His eyes flick over her hardened face, the tight line of her lips, and his smile widens. He kisses her again, longer this time, a hand cradling the back of her head, forcing his mouth against her. When he pulls back, he winks and cups her chin, running a thumb over her lips. His face goes serious, contemplative for a moment before once again breaking into a smile. He straightens, plants his hands on top of his head and stretches backwards, absolutely satisfied with his own cunning and cruelty.

“Ahh…you’re a pretty good time, though,” he remarks, glancing over to meet her eye, pointing suddenly toward her. Then he drops his arms and says, “Here’s what I’m gonna do for you, um...since you’ve been such a _good_ little girl.” He grins at her look of distaste. “I’ll be back. Another night, when I’m not so busy. I’ll have some time to spend on you. How’s that sound? Sounds _good,_   _right_?”

Autumn doesn’t want to respond—doesn’t want to show him how excited and terrified this makes her—so she stays silent. He just shrugs, smirks.

“Always leave ‘em wantin’ more,” he mutters, laughing to himself. He starts toward the door, casual, sauntering, grinning, and she hates him for this. She's never hated anyone more. He stops once he's in the doorway, taking in her figure, her glare.

“Go die in a fire,” Autumn grumbles, falling back against the pillow in defeat. HABIT snickers again, waving a finger at her.

“Y’know, I think I’m startin’ to like you,” he drawls, pointing, and he sighs in a satisfied way. “Yep. Startin’ to grow _real_ _fuckin’ fond_.” He laughs, so she can’t be sure if he’s being truthful or utterly sarcastic. He’s not killing her. That’s a good sign, right?

“Catch ya later, gorgeous,” he rasps. And he’s gone.


	6. Roses are Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sexually explicit. Yeeeee.

Autumn wakes up the next morning and experiences exactly three seconds of peace before she remembers the night before. Then she groans, rolls over and buries herself under her blankets. Binx comes poking around after a while, purring and staring. She can’t meet his judgmental kitty eyes.

“It’s not like we even had sex!” she tells the cat after a few moments, unnerved by his gaze. “We just...messed around.”

Binx slow-blinks, settling his face down on his little paws.

“It was a mistake, I know,” she replies. “But...I mean, the guy was laying on top of me. It’s not like escape was an option.”

Binx shifts, yawns.

“No, I know I started it. I know.” She bites her lip. “I swear to god, I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve never felt chemistry like this, _ever_ . Everything is eclipsed by how...I don’t know, how _primal_ my attraction to him is. It’s not natural, Binx! It fucks with my head! I can’t stop thinking about him—you know, he’s the only man I’ve even fantasized about for _months?_ How fucked up is that? He’s the only one I want, and I don’t just _want_ him—it feels like a _need._  Like when you’re thirsty, and you need water so bad it’s all you can think about. Like a real, _physical need._ And I start justifying it by telling myself, like, kissing him will distract him or...or keep him interested. Keep me alive. And he seemed into it! And oh God, it was good...But because he’s fucking HABIT, he takes it way farther than I anticipated. And no, Binx, of course I didn’t stop him. What if he killed me for that? But oh my God, his hands…Like, I didn’t know fucking _third base_ could _be_ that good. There has to be something weird going on. Or maybe I’m just utterly fucked in the head, I don’t know. Either way, I can’t help this. I want him. He scares me, and I want him, and it scares me how much I want him.”

Binx is kneading her blankets now, eyes closed, purring happily.

“You know what?” she tells the cat. “I don’t need your fucking approval.” She pushes him off the bed, and he shoots her a very offended look before stalking away.

HABIT’s words about having no one to talk to besides the cat echo in her head. Jesus. She really might be going crazy.

Autumn considers staying in bed for the rest of the day, but she feels like she can still smell him on her sheets, and she wants neither the reminder nor the temptation. So she gets out of bed and pads downstairs, wondering vaguely if last night changed anything. Wondering how HABIT thinks of her now and realizing simultaneously that she can’t treat him as if he’s some guy she met at a house party. He probably feels nothing for her besides disgust mixed with mild physical attraction. And would she really want more than that? He’s a _monster._  He _murdered_ her _mother._  The idea of him even being attracted to her should be horrifying.

“Fucking whatever,” she mutters, rounding into the kitchen. She starts going through the motions of making herself eggs and toast, mind stubbornly fixated on last night. It isn’t until the eggs are in the pan, yolks bubbling, that she turns and sees the note on the counter.

A cold chill runs through her. It’s lying neatly next to the sink, scrawled with purple pen. She wonders how long, after leaving her bedroom, HABIT bumped around her house, getting into her shit. He definitely stole some of the stationary she’d gotten for Christmas a few years ago—not that she was using it. It’s cheesy white parchment, an ugly floral pattern running along the perimeter of the sheet. She wonders how HABIT even found it, crammed up in some cabinet.

Find it he did, evidently. He was probably laughing his ass off the whole time. Autumn picks up the note. It’s a poem.

_Roses are red,_   
_Violets are blue,_   
_Stick in the Mud_ _  
Was coming for you._

_Roses are red,_   
_You thought you’d be fine._   
_I wonder if you’ll_ _  
Learn your lesson this time._

_The world is on fire,_   
_And you’re gonna burn._   
_Your “Tall Man” got bored,_ _  
So it’s HABIT’s turn._

_Roses are red,_   
_The forest is silent,_   
_And things around here_ _  
Are about to get violent._

_Yours,_

It’s not signed.

“Shit,” Autumn whispers.

It’s not comforting. The opposite, in fact. This is a blatant threat. His words keep echoing in her head—”I’ll be back...I’ll have some time to spend on you.”

How stupid was she, to think he meant they’d have some kind of fucking _date?_

That very day, Autumn goes out and gets herself a gun. She doubts it will do much against him, but she feels better with it in the house. One of the few perks of living in fucking ‘Murica.

* * *

Days pass. Weeks, too. Autumn doesn’t go out after dark anymore. Her world narrows down to home—every door and window locked and barred—and work—surrounded by people. But she refuses to simply jump at shadows. Watching her back, being on guard—that’s one thing. But she’s felt so helpless for so long, and she hates it. So she decides to be proactive.

Obviously, there’s not much she can do against a faceless monster and his vicious friend. But they say knowledge is power, and Autumn’s determined to gather as many weapons as she can. She starts to research.

There’s a plethora of information online. The Tall Man is an internet phenomenon, after all. But most of it is stuff she already knows. What she doesn’t count on is how much there’s apparently available to find out about HABIT.

EverymanHYBRID is her jumping off point, of course, but it leads down a rabbit hole. A dark, dank rabbit hole, filled with teeth and nightmares. She’s still not 100% on what he is, exactly, but she learns enough about him to guess.

It becomes clear, after cross-referencing fan theories with actual sources from mythology, that he’s a being from another dimension. He’s ancient, maybe dates back to Babylonian times—there are references to him, or something like him, in the fucking  _Epic of Gilgamesh_. He’s been active on and off through the millenia, often going into hiding for decades at a time, only to come back full-force to wreak some havoc. And as ancient and chaotic as he is, his  _modus operandi_ never really changes.

HABIT does his own special little song and dance, every time. He “inhabits” or possesses the bodies of humans and lives as them. Usually the paths he cuts through their lives are bloody and infamous—there are theories on him being the real identity behind Vlad the Impaler and Jack the Ripper—but sometimes he’ll lay low. You know, ruin peoples’ lives from the inside. Crouch inside them, share their bodies, even pretend to be them...until BOOM. Sorry kid, the whole family’s dead. He's done it countless times. It's what he’s doing to Evan now.

It also seems he’s working with the Tall Man. There’s a document posted on some kind of stupid blog—posted fairly recently, come to it. He’s been a busy guy. Anyway, the document implies that HABIT entered into an agreement with the Tall Man a couple centuries ago. He hunts the targets and brings them to the Tall Man...in exchange for getting to break them first.

In Autumn’s case, of course, that pattern seems reversed. The Tall Man got to her, and only then did she catch HABIT’s interest. And now the Tall Man seems to have cast her off for good. She hasn’t even had a glimpse of him since he tried to murder her last time. Is he truly bored with her? Or does HABIT have some kind of hand in that?

Whatever the case, Autumn isn’t interested in letting these beings run her life anymore. At the risk of becoming a goth stereotype, she decides to start looking into the occult—witchcraft, magick, all of that. She knows she needs to learn more before actually trying anything practical, but over the next few months, Autumn lays the foundation for herself. She starts meditating, memorizing the tarot, learning to make sigils. She figures if anything can give her an edge against these fuckers, it’s gaining a grasp on the supernatural.

It’s amazing how fast she learns and improves. For the first time in her life, Autumn feels like she’s found something she’s a natural at. Magick—accessing other dimensions—is intuitive to her, the way an artist knows which colors complement or a musician hears music in his head. She seems to knows the rules before she reads them, understands instinctively how the system works. And it's not like it isn't a complicated system.

Meditation, for instance—it’s the cornerstone of magickal practice, the first thing you must master. And possibly the hardest part. Every book she reads states that learning to meditate, and doing it consistently, is usually what keeps people from becoming magicians. But Autumn finds that clearing her mind and visualizing come easy. She never once feels bored, impatient or unfocused, not even when sitting in silence for hours at a time. She does it every day from the sheer pleasure of it. There is a state in meditation known as gnosis, in which your mind crosses into other dimensions, and it is something that often takes people years to master, if they ever do. Autumn manages it in less than a week.

If she had gotten in touch with other practicing magicians, or even gone on a few message boards, she would have realized how insane that is. But she doesn’t. She thinks it’s fairly normal—she’s fairly certain most people are better at magick than her. But she loves it all the same.

It takes a couple months, but Autumn feels herself reaching closer to actually casting her first circle and creating a servitor to protect her from harm. It’ll be a weak thing, a being imagined into existence—she’s nowhere near knowledgeable enough to evoke an actual spirit—but it might give her an edge. So she gathers the supplies and waits for a new moon—new beginnings and all that. She’s not sure if it will actually help. But damn if she’s not going to try.

* * *

The night before Autumn plans to do her first big ritual, she decides to relax. She puts on a movie, pours some wine, and orders a pizza. There’s hard work to be done tomorrow—no reason not to be a glutton tonight.

It’s been three months since she last saw HABIT, longer since seeing the Tall Man. Magick has given her a newfound confidence, and it makes it easier to live her own life. She’s still scared, of course she is, but she kind of thinks if HABIT was right around the corner, she’d have some kind of ominous feeling about it. She’s gotten better at listening to her gut.

And tonight she’s nothing but calm. In fact, everything kind of seems right with the world. Three months of being left alone...that’s a long time.

The doorbell rings around midnight, and Autumn slumps off the couch, grabbing the pizza money from the counter on her way to the front door. She runs her fingers through her tousled hair and unlocks the deadbolt, already looking down at the cash as she swings the door wide.

“How much?” she asks, and has a moment to feel kind of bad for sounding so dim and tired before…

“Autumn! How are ya, gorgeous?”

Autumn’s eyes snap up to HABIT, standing in the doorway, feet shoulder width apart and smiling. He’s looking up at her from under the brim of his baseball cap, and even in the darkness of the porch she can see he’s spattered in blood. It cracks and dries on his fingers, his forearms, his shirt.

For a second, Autumn can’t do anything. She just stands there, stiff and speechless, and stares at him. For three months, _three_ fucking _months,_  she’d constantly glanced over her shoulders, carried around a gun, laid awake terrified, gotten into fucking _magick_ in the hopes of finding a way to defend herself. When had she relaxed? When had she actually started to feel _good_ again?

_Wishful thinking again. Old habits die hard._

And why, she wonders, watching HABIT’s tongue come out to flick at his full, smirking lips, why is her heart leaping? Why is a part of her excited about this? As much as the dark part of her would like a repeat of his last visit—though preferably with more satisfaction at the end there—she knows it’s not likely that’s what he’s here for.

How had that stupid poem he’d written gone?

_Roses are red,_   
_The forest is silent,_   
_And things around here_ _  
_ Are about to get violent.

HABIT watches with interest as emotions flick across her face, one hand resting casually on the hilt of the knife sheathed at his hip. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his shoulders are still hunched, his eyes intense. In short, he looks dangerous, like a wolf waiting to pounce.

“HABIT…” she finds herself saying, and his grin widens.

“You doin’ good?” he asks, animated now, jovial. “Gettin’ ready for bed? Looks like it. It’s pretty late, huh? Yeah…” He looks around to the darkened yard behind him, passes a hand over his face and down his throat, grimacing. “Sorry about that. But I was in the area, so I thought I’d drop by.” He pauses, his expression going dark as his eyes travel up and down her form. “You gonna invite me in?”

“Yeah,” Autumn replies immediately, unsure whether it’s fear or eagerness taking over now. She steps back from the door and he breezes inside, looking content. He always looks so fucking _pleased_ with himself. She wonders if he could possibly know about her plans to get a little magickal protection up in here. He’d _love_ to thwart that kind of shit.

HABIT glances around the hall, nods, then turns back to Autumn and, smiling, spreads his arms wide.

“Didja miss me?” he asks.

“You’ve been gone for months,” Autumn says, slowly closing the door. She can’t stop looking at him—his slender, compact body and the broad shoulders roped with muscle. The blood spatters on his neck, the feathery softness of his dark blond hair, the bruise-like circles under his eyes. The mix of attraction and repulsion is so intense it staggers her. She wonders what he looks like with his shirt off and wonders whose blood he’s got on him and wonders if he’ll kill her slow or quick.

“Didn’t think I’d come back, did ya?” HABIT says, smirking. “Or—or hoped I wouldn’t. Always the optimist. How’s that workin’ out for ya?” He snickers and affects his voice into something deep and posh, puffing out his chest. “A man’s word is his bond.” He winks at her. “And I did promise, didn’t I? Plus I missed you.” He shrugs, and even though she knows it can’t be genuine, her heart flutters. “Kept thinkin’ about ya,” HABIT continues, circling his fingers near his temples and taking a step towards her.

He’s watching her eyes now as he stalks toward her, absorbing every flicker of emotion across her face and using it to calculate. Autumn can’t imagine he misses the spark of lust there and hopes he just chalks it up to fear. She tries to make the lines of her mouth firm and strong, tries to stop her hands from shaking, but she can’t, especially when he gets close enough that she can smell him—the smell of rain and blood and sweat—and he smiles that knowing smile and reaches out with one hand to push her back up against the wall.

“See, I kept reliving my last visit,” he’s saying, and his voice is hushed, coming distorted from smirking lips. “Replayin’ it in my head, like a videotape or some shit. Over and over!” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “It’s a great show, to be honest. A really fun time. Would you agree?” He meets her gaze, mock-innocent, then snickers before reaching out to gently brush the hair from her shoulders. She tries not to jump at the contact, and his fingers slide across her collarbones. He’s still talking.

“This body of yours was really something,” he says, closing the gap between them, his other hand coming to rest firmly on her hip. “All warm and…” he wiggles his own hips, letting them brush against her, _"s_ _quirmy_ . Real pornstar shit. Oh! And the way you _moaned_ for me!” He laughs, shakes his head. “I liked it. Still like it, still...want it. Want you.” He smiles, tilting his hips against her and spreading his arms, as if he’s making an offer she has the option to refuse. She’s silent, and he drops his hands to his sides, laughing derisively now. “I mean, how fucked up is _that?"_  he says.

Autumn decides to say, “That’s insulting.” And she does so in the most bored, sarcastic tone she can muster, thinking it might…she doesn’t fucking know, lighten the mood? But it seems to be the _wrong_ thing to say, because suddenly HABIT looks furious, and he slams her back against the wall, _hard,_  and his strong, bloodstained fingers are clenched around her chin, forcibly holding her jaw. He leans close, making unwavering eye contact, baring his teeth

When he speaks, his voice is a growl, distorted and otherworldly. True.

_"This shit’s not a part of my life, you_ ** _understand_** _me?_ _So, what, you’re just_ ** _special_** _somehow? You just_ ** _happen_** _be immune to the Administrator, and you just_ ** _happen_** _to be unaffected by_ ** _my_** _influences, and you just_ ** _happen_** _to be the itch in my fuckin’ crotch?”_  

HABIT slams her head back into the wall to emphasize his point, and Autumn can’t help the gasp of pain that escapes. He looks furious, terrifying, every movement sharp and swift. She has a second to think, _The Administrator? Is that what the Tall Man is really called?_ Before he shakes her face and her attention is forced back to him.

HABIT reaches up to keep his hat steady as he continues, _"I_ _’ve fucked every_ ** _whore in Babylon_** _, Autumn, and_ ** _you_** _are the one that sticks with me?”_ He cackles, short and sharp. _"_ _That’s absurd on its own, but shit! We didn’t even fuck! I barely scratched the fuckin’_ ** _surface_** _of all the shit I could do to you. And now you’re playin’ dumb? Huh? You’re tellin’ me a_ ** _human_** _has that kinda power?"_  His grimace slides into a cruel smile, and he tilts his head to one side, watching her face. _"_ _Naah, you’re somethin’ different. Somethin’ special. Somethin’ like me, somethin’ that’s been…_ ** _hiding._** _In plain sight, for years and years and years. So tell me."_  He inhales sharply, bringing her chin up so their eyes meet. _"_ _What the fuck_ ** _are_** _you?"_

Autumn can’t breathe for a second, staring into his intent, furious face. She thinks he’s telling the truth here, possibly even being more genuine with her than he’s ever been before. And she can see his steps in logic, the way his brain worked over these facts. But before she can help herself, the insanity of everything he just said bubbles up. And Autumn laughs in his face.

It’s a loud laugh, and perhaps crueler, more mocking than she intends. But her fascination with HABIT, her lust for him, coexist inside of her with hatred and repulsion, and even if it gets his knife to her throat, she relishes being able to shame him like this. And suddenly her laughter is intensifying at the fucking _look_ on his face—blank, watchful, derisive, the slight raising of his eyebrows—and she can’t breathe again, wheezing in gasps and bending over, laughing so hard her stomach hurts. _Her_ laughing at _him._ For being so goddamn _narrow-minded,_ despite claiming to be so _knowing._  For his ego and his fervent belief in his own psychopathy. He’s wrong! He’s so fucking wrong! She’s barely a burgeoning witch, much less a fucking trans-dimensional monster! This guy who comes at the fucking world like he can’t make a mistake, like he knows everything, just drew a conclusion so utterly _incorrect_ it’s astonishing. All because of his own tender ego! If it wasn’t HABIT, it’d be sad.

As it is, it just makes her laugh harder.

HABIT steps back from her, his shoulders dropping, a look of utter boredom crossing his face as he looks down on her, slumped over and crying tears of mirth. He’s not talking, just watching, letting her go on without gracing her with a reaction.

Does he think this is evidence, Autumn wonders, that she really is a supernatural being? Does he imagine a mere mortal would be too afraid of him to laugh at him?

“HABIT,” she chokes out, and it’s almost painful to talk for lack of air to her lungs. “Jesus, HABIT, are _you_ about to get a kick in the nuts!” And she doubles over again, and oh fuck the tears are just pouring now, she can’t stop, she might never stop laughing and it hurts, her abs hurt, but it’s so fucking _funny..._

And then she feels him take hold of a chunk of her hair and pull.

Now her skull is screaming as he yanks her upright and spins her around. She vaguely hears him go, “Woop!” before he pushes her hard across the room and into the solid oak table in the corner.

It’s not a graceful landing. Autumn stops laughing when her back connects hard with the wood and she trips over herself, falling to the floor. She heaves in a breath, almost kind of grateful to him for evening out her emotions so thoroughly. She feels calm now. Though she probably shouldn’t.

He stands above her, head tilted, face mild and expectant as he stares down at her. When their eyes meet, he raises his eyebrows, slightly shakes his head like _hello?_ Like he didn’t just throw her across the room.

“You were saying?” he asks, so casually she can’t tell if he was actually upset by the laughing at all. Though she thinks he was. She can’t help but grin, a bubble of laughter rising and escaping. HABIT’s look darkens, he takes a step closer, and she puts up a hand to ward him off. He does stop in his tracks, but only once she starts talking.

“Do you seriously,” she begins, shaking her head, “have such a _huge_ opinion of yourself that the very _thought_ of wanting to fuck a particular human sends you spiraling into an existential crisis?” She snorts when he rolls his eyes, giving her a look of such deep contempt it’s almost amazing.

“Um, no,” he says, like she’s the world’s biggest idiot. He rolls his eyes again and sighs as if realizing he’s going to have to explain this to a fucking child. “No, Autumn, I’ve wanted to fuck _lots_ of particular humans. And I have!” He puts his hands to his chest, stepping closer, expression almost pleasant. “And they loved it. Well, some of ‘em loved it. Others…not so much. Thing is, I never _cared._ But with _you_ —nah, see, with _you_ it’s different.”

He kneels down before her, smiling, and she feels a touch of fear again, fear that was absent while she was laughing. She remembers how ancient and dangerous he is, exactly what he’s capable of, exactly what he’s done—exactly what he _enjoys._  And she wishes the fear could’ve been present earlier. It might have prevented her from fucking up so badly.

HABIT takes her hands in his, his face mock-sincere, his smile widening when he notices how white she’s gone.

“And I think you know it’s different,” he tells her. “I think you know _why_ it’s different and _how_ it’s different, and I think you’re smart enough to know right now is not the time to _fuck with me."_  Abruptly, with those last four words, he slaps the edge of the table above her head. He’s snarling into her face, looking furious, his voice distorted. Autumn can’t help but gasp, scooting back, or trying to. She’s stopped by the leg of the table and one of his hands as it suddenly thrusts forward and wraps around her throat. It’s not a hard squeeze, not enough to cut off air, but it's serious.

HABIT’s face remains grave. “So let’s try this again,” he growls, shifting on his haunches to get more comfortable.

“You’re wrong,” Autumn says. His eyes narrow. “I swear to god, HABIT. If I’m…” She bites her lip, because the very idea of her being anything other than human is so ridiculous she almost wants to laugh again. But she doesn’t, she composes herself and continues. “If I’m…you know, something else. Something like you…then I’m sure as fuck not aware of it. I swear.”

HABIT’s eyes close and he tilts his head back, sighing, the embodiment of frustration. But when he brings his head level, he’s smiling again.

“Ignorant,” he says. “Oblivious. Blind to the latent enigmas inherent in your being.” He sighs, shrugs, and releases her throat. “I can understand that.” He rises to his feet and shrugs again, chuckling. “But I can’t accept it. Get up.” Autumn stares at him, motionless, and his smile slides away. _"_ _Get. Up."_

She does so. Immediately, HABIT’s warm body is against her, pushing her back against the table, and she smells him, and the sense memories come back so strong she can scarcely keep the rush of heat from spreading through her body. He tilts his head, eyes on her shoulder as he runs a few fingers along it.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says. “Or—or here’s what _I’m_ gonna do. For you.” He places both hands on his chest and grins. “I’m gonna do a little research. Pull a couple tricks out of my hat, crack open the olds books, you know, all that occulty, mystical shit. And we’ll see if we can’t unlock some of those…” His hands toy with the words in the air. _"S_ _upposedly_ buried memories in that pretty fuckin’ head of yours. Sound good?”

“Sure,” Autumn whispers.

“Good,” he says. “Good girl. So there's the plan!" He claps his hands together and smirks, meeting her eyes. "Now that we got that outta the way…” His fingers trail along her collarbones. “What d’ya wanna do?”

Autumn thinks she should maybe respond, but his smile tells her he already has an idea. And honestly she’s mostly focused on how his hip bones are spreading her thighs, how his crotch is pressed close to hers, and the heat of him, the smell, and she has a moment to wonder again exactly what the fuck is actually going on because she’s never had a reaction like this to any guy _ever_ —much less one so clearly repulsive, sickening, awful. But then HABIT kisses her and her thoughts are obliterated.

His mouth is firm, demanding, and she gasps in surprise before her lips open against his and his tongue forces itself between them. He grunts, inhaling deeply, and fists his hand in her hair to pull her head back, opening her up to him.  He quickly pushes her to sit on the table, forcing their bodies flush and running his hands over her sides, one hand digging beneath her ass to squeeze. He lifts her thigh and she slings her leg around his narrow hip, her bare heel against his leather belt. They rut against each other like that, the burgeoning hardness of him beneath his rough jeans pushing against her. She moans, whimpers, and he chuckles raspily into her mouth as one of her hands finds the hem of his t-shirt, slides up beneath it to press against his firm, warm stomach, to clutch at his jutting hip bones and around to his lithely muscled back. Then she scrapes her nails down his skin. HABIT hisses, ripping away from her and looking back to her hand.

But now he’s laughing again. “Yer a mean one,” he rasps, nose-tip to nose-tip with her, smiling, “aren’tcha?”

“Aw, did that hurt?” Autumn says. HABIT snickers and instantly slams her down on the table, knocking the back of her head on the wood, nearly making her lose her breath. Autumn lets loose a cry, more of surprise than pain, and HABIT cackles cruelly.

_"Aw, did that hurt?"_  he mocks, his voice pitchy and squeaking. He inhales deeply and looks down on her, now lying fully on the tabletop, her legs wrapped around his waist. His smile slides away as he runs both hands down her body, over her breasts, her stomach, to her hips where they meet the line of her boxer shorts and push them down a little.

His long, calloused fingers trace the skin under her belly button, and suddenly they’re petting the top of her mound and he’s smiling again. She jolts, her abs contracting spontaneously as the pressure moves down, pressing her shorts into her slit with his index, hooking it so his knuckle rubs against her clit. He’s got to feel how wet she is under the shorts—indeed, the evil grin widens—and then he’s twisting the fabric aside and slamming his middle finger into her, all the way to the knuckle.

“This feels familiar,” HABIT drawls, his thumb making lazy circles against her clit as his opposite hand moves up to knead at her breast over her shirt. Autumn tilts her head back and moans, and HABIT chuckles, a derisive sound. “You’re too fuckin’ easy,” he tells her, and he’s bending down over her, his finger still embedded inside of her, his thumb still slowly dragging across her sensitive nub. He laughs in her face. “I mean, shit, I’m barely touchin’ ya. You this much of a slut all the time, Autumn, or is it just me?” His finger hooks inside of her, hitting a spot so blissful it takes everything in her to suppress the moan trying to escape.

But she does it all the same, even manages to plaster on a look of utter boredom. HABIT tilts his head at her.

“You’re right,” she replies, rolling her eyes and hooking her foot against his hip bone. “You _are_ barely touching me. I didn’t think you were this boring.” With that, she kicks out, catching his hip and gut brutally, forcing him backwards.

HABIT lets out a whoosh of breath and steps back, surprised and winded, his hand untangling itself from her panties. Autumn sits up and closes her thighs, taking half a second to regain her composure before HABIT is looking up at her from under the brim of his hat, grinning.

“Ornery tonight,” he says, pointing at her. He shrugs. “Welp. Fair’s fair!”

He springs at her before she can move, wrestling her back down on the tabletop. Apparently the challenge worked, because he’s forcibly spreading her thighs with determination and jutting his hips between them. He settles himself heavily on top of her and takes both her wrists in his, then reaches back into his jeans pockets.

For a breath-snatching moment Autumn is sure he’s reaching for a knife. But with a rush of relief, she sees it’s just a zip tie. HABIT must notice the calm come over her face, because he rolls his eyes and swiftly forces her onto her side, tugging both arms behind her back. As he steps away to  clear himself from her legs, she has a moment to wonder why she’d ever be relieved by the sight of a _zip tie_ in HABIT’s hands. Then he’s forcing her onto her stomach and tying her wrists together.

He rolls her onto her back again, her arms under her, uncomfortable, pressed hard into the table. She groans at the strain it puts on her shoulders and HABIT laughs.

“What?” he says at her glare. “You still got your legs, don’tcha?”

Good point. Autumn kicks out at him, but it’s easily evaded, and HABIT grabs one ankle, laughing. He firmly places her foot on the edge of the table, her knee bent, then does the same to the other foot. Her thighs are spread wide, the crotch of her thin boxer shorts completely exposed.

HABIT rests a hand on one of her knees, patting it. “You move your feet,” he says casually, “and I’ll nail ‘em to the table. Okay?” His hand is moving down across her inner thigh, closer to where she wants it, and she doesn’t answer. HABIT’s face darkens at her silence and he leans forward, menacing, one hand gripping her face.

“Okay,” Autumn says, breathless as his fingers skim over her covered pussy, tracing up and down in rough passes. HABIT’s smile snaps back on and he pats her cheek.

“Good. Excellent,” he mutters. Then his pressure decreases, his hands remove themselves, and he straightens. He studies her. “Um…just a sec. Don’t move.”

HABIT paces to the other side of the table and grabs one of the chairs. He brings it back to her end and swings it around so its back is pressed right against the table, right in front of her. Autumn curls her toes and fingers, expectant, watching him as well as she can as HABIT straddles the chair with his legs. He stays standing, however, long enough to let her watch him remove his long knife from his belt.

Autumn gasps, every muscle in her body tightening, but HABIT rests one rough hand on her foot, a silent reminder not to move.

Still towering over her, he runs the flat of the knife teasingly up one calf. Autumn squeezes her eyes shut, hoping, _praying,_  that he hasn’t just been fucking with her. That he’s not just going to murder her right now. She feels the tip of the knife gently skim along her knee, then down her inner thigh. HABIT chuckles at her responsive gasp as the steel whispers along the sensitive skin right next to her panties. Then the blade is moving upwards, over the swell of her hip and under her shirt. He adjusts, points the edge toward the ceiling, and slices.

Her shirt falls away cleanly. That’s one tank top ruined, but frankly, Autumn’s not complaining. HABIT casually pushes the fabric off her breasts, exposing them to his clearly interested eyes. He tilts his head, taking her in, his gaze like fire as it rakes her prone white body.

“Pretty,” she hears him mutter, more to himself than anything, and then he’s bending over her, his long tongue sliding out of his mouth. He looks wicked and salacious as the tip of his tongue meets her nipple, wet and warm. One of his hands is steadying his hat, the other clutching the hilt of his knife where it rests beside her hip bone. He smiles, glancing up to meet her eyes, and swirls his too-long tongue slowly around her erect bud, then down the curve of her breast to slide along her ribs.

Autumn shudders and moans at the heat, the moisture, and HABIT’s free hand comes up to toy with her opposite nipple, pinching and tweaking. His lips and teeth come next, nipping at her ribs, down her stomach, sucking the flesh right above her panty-line hard enough to bruise. He looks up to her, slipping his tongue slowly just under that elastic band, and tips his head to the side with an incongruously innocent grin. Autumn meets his eyes hesitantly, and his smile widens, his gaze utterly steady.

Then his hand moves, a blur, and for a split second of sheer terror, the knife is poised directly above her. Then he plunges the blade deep into the table next to her thigh.

Autumn flinches violently, then growls, “You fucker!” HABIT snickers madly, reaching up to gently remove his hat and place it next to the knife.

“Gotcha,” he says, clearly pleased with himself, before slowly taking a seat.

His legs are on each side of the chair back, but he’s tall enough that he can bend easily over it to reach her. One of his hands comes up to cup under her bent knee, sliding in the sweat there, squeezing. Holding her leg upright, his elbow braced on the table, HABIT turns his head and kisses her inner thigh. Wet, open mouthed, gentle almost. His tongue is lush, slow as he makes his way over her sensitive flesh, toward her core, and Autumn is arching her back, trying to get him to kiss her exactly where she needs him to. She’s fucking aching, and he’s not moving fast enough.

He knows this. He chuckles at her eagerness, pauses to suck gently at the soft flesh only a few inches from her underwear. Autumn moans at each flick of his tongue, willing him with everything in her to just _hurry up already._  And as if hearing her thoughts, HABIT's neck stretches out, mouth meandering down her legs, closer and closer to her core. His chapped lips curl into a vicious smirk against her, and one of his calloused hands slides up her other calf, forcibly pulling her knees wider apart before he grips the crotch of her boxers in one fist.

With a powerful tug, he rips the boxers off of her—they were thin cotton, she can’t imagine it was terribly hard for him—but she’s not expecting the pain that bites into her hips when the elastic stretches and digs deeply into her flesh before snapping. She almost curses at him, but a cool breeze runs across the wet lips of her pussy, and she realizes how exposed she is. She’s not sure if she likes it or hates it, especially when she notices his smile, the way his eyes are fixated on her, and her legs flex instinctively.

"I definitely know how to pick ‘em," HABIT says mildly, more to himself than anything. She’s not sure if it’s sarcastic, so a biting retort rises to her lips, but it dies quickly—as quick as HABIT's tongue can work. Instead she moans, arching her back as soon as his wet muscle touches her. He seems satisfied by the reaction, smiling and sighing deeply through his nose, before he buries his ungodly long tongue between her wet lips. A spark zips through her, lightning in her veins, and her body writhes beneath him, which prompts him to dig his fingers into her sides and jerk her hips forcibly toward his mouth.

She’s never felt anything like this, Autumn decides as HABIT presses his face against her soaking core, tongue squirming, exploring. She’s been eaten out before, and it’s _never_ felt this good.

The rough fingertips of one hand skim along her flat stomach, right where it meets the cradle of her thighs, testing every inch of her soft skin. His fingers fan out over the jut of her hip bone, and his thumb brushes the tip of his nose, buried into her pelvis as he laps into her. She gasps, wishes her hands were free to bury in his soft hair, as he teases aside one of her labia and pauses to examine her, spread and wet and wanting.

Her knees jerk when the hot, wet abyss of HABIT's mouth molds over her quivering pussy, his tongue flicking out fiercely against her clit. The wet sucking sounds he makes, the satisfied groans and grunts, only get her hotter as she feels his talented tongue play her like a fucking piano. Autumn’s chest pushes up, arms screaming against their bonds, and her hips roll forward, wanting more.

While his tongue is squirming against her clit, his middle finger finds the entrance of her wet canal. He pushes it slowly inside, almost casually, like a fucking afterthought, as far as it can get. And he squirms it, pumps it in and out in smooth, unhurried thrusts. Meanwhile, HABIT's other hand finds its way under her thigh. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her ass, bitten nails leaving red, half-moon markings. Autumn’s hips all too eagerly work themselves back onto the fingers thrusting inside of her, and he pauses to chuckle against her, amused by her moans.

“Fuck, HABIT,” Autumn gasps when his tongue flicks at her clit again, straining up to see what he’s doing to her.

His gray eyes meet hers, pupils blown huge. The shadows behind them are malevolent, sinister and beautiful all at once. Then HABIT leans back thoughtfully, and Autumn sighs when his warm mouth leaves her. He removes his finger from her and sucks it into his mouth, obscene and satisfied. His mouth is slick with saliva, shining as he smirks up at her.

" _You like that, gorgeous?_ " he asks, voice thick and deep, a hint of that otherworldly distortion in it. He’s feeling this, she realizes. Liking this. He doesn’t speak in his true voice unless his emotions are genuine. This softens her somehow, so instead of the sarcastic response she was planning, Autumn just gathers her breath. HABIT simply shrugs at her silence, running his teeth along her inner thigh, nipping carelessly, leaving bruises. “Back at it,” he mutters.

Then the velvety tip of HABIT's ridiculously long tongue slips inside of her again, and Autumn moans, louder than before, a wonderful jolt rushing through her. She takes a moment to wonder why—shouldn’t she be used to this by now? It’s been like five minutes. But she can’t fucking get enough—every touch and kiss and lick feels like the end of the world, like an electric surge and she’s never felt that before, never felt so sensitive or had every sensation feel so _good._  She almost thinks he drugged her, or he hid tablets of Ecstasy on his tongue, because this feels like a fucking high. Men have made her cum before, but none have made the work up to cumming better than the fucking orgasm itself.

HABIT even seems to be enjoying this experience in his own way—she can feel his cocky smirk as his lips move against her. Autumn tenses and whines pitifully, her hips working feverishly back down onto his mouth, forcing his head up and down with her fluid thrusts.

His nose butts against the smooth plane of her pelvis as he laps into her, slow and open-mouthed. He is meticulous, satisfied, utterly focused, utterly involved. He hasn’t been making much noise throughout most of this, but when a spark of pleasure races through her and she tightens her thighs around his head, he lets out a guttural, animalistic moan in response. Autumn flushes, strangely gratified to think that perhaps, deep down, HABIT isn’t just using this as leverage or because he wants to make her cum for whatever game he’s playing here. Maybe he’s being genuine about wanting her. Maybe he, this unearthly being, is really enjoying being able to coax moans from her because it’s _her._  She likes that idea. Fucking loves it.

Both of his hands have found their way to her ass, and he kneads her cheeks firmly, like a cat kneads a soft blanket—it speaks of deep comfort, deep contentment somewhere in him. _He likes this._  Autumn’s hips press back against his mouth, faster and faster, urging, but HABIT just continues licking at his leisurely pace, his tongue meeting her clit every so often, forcing shudders through her.

He’s grunting every time her pelvis knocks against her nose, and she can feel her orgasm mounting now, more intense even than last time, and she looks down at the top of HABIT’s head, and his taught arms cradling her legs and the long, strong line of his back.

She tenses, ready, but his pace levels off and slows, despite her moans and insistent thrusts. It doesn’t matter, though. His very mouth is enough to drive her there. She bets he could get her off just by looking at her. Autumn’s toes curl and her abs get tight, feeling the orgasm coming on—slow and controlled as HABIT’s tongue, but coming all the same. And she’s shivering, determined not to say anything this time, not to let him know, just to let him push her over the edge without any warning. She’s so close, so fucking close...

Autumn cries out indignantly when he suddenly pulls away from her, jaw wet and undeniably erotic. HABIT's eyes are burning, and he leans back for a moment to catch his breath. Autumn hitches, already glaring, disappointed despite being utterly unsurprised. She should’ve known he’d know she was about to cum. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

Autumn sneers at him heatedly as he staggers to a stand, lips and chin glistening with her wetness.  But his face is still dark, intense, and he’s all flushed and tousled looking. He’s hard, she sees that, and his hips are angled toward her almost cockily as HABIT smirks at her, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

“So is that it?” she demands shakily. “Cut and run right before it gets good? Is this gonna be a pattern with you?”

HABIT snickers, the sound warping in the air around him.

_"Oh ye of little faith,"_  he growls. And he kicks the chair aside, where it clatters sideways to the floor.

She’s overheated, ready to scream, but she’s stilled by a weird kind of tenderness in his touch as he bends over her. His bulge brushes her exposed core, denim rough against her sensitive skin, and he knots his fingers into her hair. HABIT brings his nose to brush against hers.

“Gettin’ eager?” he asks, his hands transferring to her inner thighs, rubbing back and forth in an almost soothing way. “Gettin’ impatient? Am I moving too slow for you? Yeah. Look at you.” He chuckles, but it’s not a manic laugh. It’s low, husky, breathless. “You’re fuckin’ shakin’. I can understand that. Fuck the build up, right?”

“That’s all you seem to be,” Autumn spits back, still breathless. “Fucking _build up."_

HABIT cackles. “That’s cuz I like you like this,” he says. “Waiting. Anticipatin’. Ready to fuckin’ burst. It’s fun to fuck with you.”

“That’s the thing, asshole,” Autumn replies. “You _haven’t."_  He considers this, taking a moment to tug off his shirt—more to keep it from sticking to his drenched skin than to show her his body—but she takes in his bare torso with relish. His shoulders are fucking perfect.

“Maybe I wanna hear you ask for it,” he whispers, swooping quickly back over her. His lips ride along her jawline, against her ear, force goosebumps down her heated flesh. “Maybe I wanna hear you say please. Say _please,_ Autumn. _Please,_  HABIT, I want it. Give it to me.”

“Please,” Autumn whispers immediately. “Please. I want it. Please.”

“What d’ya want?” HABIT asks softly, and she can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the graze of his teeth as he smiles against her neck. Autumn huffs, squirms under him, and she can feel him reaching down for his belt, slowly unbuckling it. Heat arches through her.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers, and she’s not sure she should, but Christ, she’s come this far and right now it’s _all_ she wants. He growls, biting down on her neck, loosening his belt and unzipping his pants. Autumn cries out at the heat of him against her, warm and velvety hard. He pushes against her opening, rubbing slowly, preparing.

_"Do_ you?” he rasps, voice thick with mirth, reaching down between them to swipe his thumb at her clit. What he _doesn’t_ do is thrust into her.

“Jesus Christ,” Autumn gasps, and it’s a weird mix of annoyance and arousal. “HABIT…”

“That’s good,” he whispers into her ear. “Say my name again.” The lights in the house buzz and waver around them, the dangerous hum of electricity.

“HABIT,” Autumn moans. HABIT groans into her ear, a hand gripping at her hip. “Please,” she whispers, arching against him. The lights flicker again and he pulls back to look into her face. His eyes are dark and intense, his mouth set into something between a snarl and a grin.

“Thatta girl,” he says roughly.

And he slams into her, hard, as deep and close as he can get, and the lights pop into darkness.

Autumn laughs breathily at the electric surge—doubtless from the man now fucking her. But as HABIT thrusts into her, slowly at first, then faster and faster, the laughter dies and she can’t think anymore. He raises himself upright while she wraps her legs around his sweaty hips and, Jesus, she feels a thousand fireworks go off. The connection is insane. Incredible. The best thing she’s ever felt, bar-none. He’s fucking her recklessly, relentlessly, his breath shallow and forced between clenched teeth. His nails bite into her hips impatiently and Autumn finally snaps out of shock enough to begin to move, thrusting back, taking him deeper than before.

They move in tandem, their pace quickening as they find their rhythm. HABIT braces his hand on the table beside her head, his fingers tense, nails digging into the wood. The noises he makes are minimal, but they’re genuine, and they burst from his lips distorted. Just groans, half-phrases: _"_ _Yeah. Fuck. Good."_ Then one hand rises and grips her jaw, a finger sliding along her lower lip before pushing into her mouth. Autumn licks it gamely, tasting blood, and she almost likes it, especially when HABIT tilts his head back and moans.

He goes harder, upping the pace, and Autumn is doing everything she can to keep up, to not fly apart at the seams and dissolve into bliss. She’s just about to formulate words, to beg him to lean down and kiss her...

And suddenly the doorbell rings.

_Oh Jesus fucking..._ She'd completely forgotten.

HABIT falters, his hips slowing, and he growls as he turns to look through the darkness at the front door. She can tell he’s about to do something stupid—about to break this incredible connection and go answer it, maybe kill whoever’s outside—but she hates the very thought.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers. HABIT looks to her, almost pulling back, but she tightens her legs around him and laughs. “It’s the fucking pizza guy.”

She arches her back, forcibly driving herself onto him, sending him as clear a hint as she can.

“The fucking…?” HABIT says. There is another knock at the door, and it seems to click, and suddenly he’s chuckling. Autumn laughs along, and as his thrusts pick up speed again, their laughter turns into moans. The pizza guy is ignored.

They work up pace again, harder and faster than before. HABIT’s hand buries itself in her hair, fingers gripping, a painful edge to the all consuming pleasure. His grip moves down to cup the back of her neck, and suddenly he jerks her upright into a seated position. Autumn gasps as their bodies meet, skin pressed together, all heat and sweat and thrumming energy. And then HABIT’s lips slam against hers, open and wet, his tongue spilling out heatedly. His hands move down to cup her ass, guiding her body onto him as his breath fills her mouth. He’s big, girthy, and he’s filling her completely. The pleasure is mounting again and she can feel herself teetering on that sharp, hot edge, and she wraps her legs more tightly around his hips, refusing to let him ruin it again.

But he doesn’t seem to want to. He stops kissing to catch his breath and tilts his forehead against hers, their noses brushing. They’re fucking in the dark, in a pitch black dining room, but she can still make out the white glint of his teeth in the dark, the directness and intensity of his eyes. She moans at the heat there, the fire, and HABIT seems spurred on by this. He slams into her harder, bracing her ass against the table to gain leverage. And he’s going faster now, driving deep, barely a breath between thrusts. His groans are rough and masculine and utterly fucking erotic, intense. He’s not fucking laughing now, he’s just feeling it, liking it, fucking _loving_ her around him, the friction of it all and Autumn is throwing her head back, seeing stars.

_"C'mon,"_  he rasps, out of breath. His voice is deep, distorted, otherworldly. True. _"_ _C’mon, Autumn. Fuckin’ cum for me."_  One hand grips her throat, squeezing as he stares into her eyes. " _I want you to._ ”

And either he felt her start to tighten around him, or he has impeccable timing, but Autumn’s orgasm rips through her in an instant, almost like she came on his command. It’s so fucking sudden and intense she can’t believe it’s happening, crashing in like a fucking flash flood, nearly painful as HABIT continues to bury himself inside of her again and again. And she barely hears herself cry out his name, an exclamation of pleasure so sincere and helpless it’s almost pitiable. HABIT chokes out a rough laugh, then kisses her as he thrusts through the waves.

_"S’at feel fuckin’ good?_ ” he rasps ironically in his true voice as she leans against him, utterly satisfied. All she wants is to feel him hold her, but suddenly he pulls out of her and drags her to her knees on the floor. He laughs at her look of surprise. “Yeah, I’ll bet it did.” He’s sliding a hand over his cock, his head thrown back to expose the long column of his throat. He pushes his fingers through her sweaty hair.

“So what now?” he asks, his grip tightening as he tilts her head back to meet his gaze. What now is, she wants him to cum, too.

So Autumn leans forward and swipes her tongue against him.

That’s literally all it takes. HABIT explodes immediately, apparently taken by surprise, so fast and hard he can’t help the groan that escapes, almost angrily, from his chest. Autumn wraps her mouth around him, swallowing him, finding she wants to as his fingers curl into her tangled hair. His eyes never leave her face.

Finally, when he’s done, he slips from her mouth and runs a hand over his hair, breathing hard.

“Shit,” he says. His shoulders slump, and he chuckles raspily, shaking his head and turning away from her. He takes a deep breath, his back to her as he rebuckles his pants, slung low over sweaty hips, and she watches through the darkness as his shoulders begin to shake with laughter. It’s a disbelieving laugh—he’s shaking his head—and it’s less than pleasant. Autumn can’t say she doesn’t understand it on some levels.

HABIT tilts his head towards the ceiling and says, “Woo!” Then he turns to look at her over his shoulder, grinning his wicked grin. Slowly, he faces her again, his skin shining wet in the dark, and paces toward her. One rough hand tangles itself in her hair again as he brings his covered crotch level with her face, then he reaches up and grabs his hat, knife and t-shirt from the table.

He paces away again, chuckling to himself as he slips the shirt over his head and pushes his hair back to place the cap. He sheathes his knife and stands for a moment, looking around her dark entryway as if making sure he’s wrapped everything up. He nods to himself and heads toward the door.

“Jesus fucking…HABIT!” Autumn calls, clumsily trying to struggle to her feet with her hands tied so tightly behind her back. She’s fucking tired, and her shoulders ache like crazy. HABIT, to his credit, does turn around at the sound of his name.

“Oh shit!” he says, pointing at her, still kneeling naked on the floor. “You’re still all tied up, aren’tcha?” He approaches her again, smiling maliciously, and Autumn sighs. She knows him too well by now to believe he’ll do anything but be annoying, especially since he’s already wearing that fucking smirk. He tilts his head, looking down at her, his hands clasped together in front of his grinning mouth.

“You’re contemplating way too fucking hard right now,” Autumn tells him warily. HABIT laughs, and it sounds almost genuinely amused.

“You look good like that,” he replies huskily after a moment, leaning down to look into her eyes.

“Take the zip tie off at least,” Autumn demands immediately, a challenge in her tone as she cranes her neck back to meet his gaze, her eyes unwavering. Interesting, how making a guy cum—even an otherworldly being—can make him seem a little less scary. At least, directly after the fact.

“Mmm…” HABIT muses, tonguing the inside of his cheek and moving his head side to side. Then his mouth splits into a wide, sharp grin and he snickers. “Naah!” Quickly, he kisses her—rough and loveless—then spins on his heel and makes his way toward her front door.

Autumn groans. “You’re fucking predictable,” she mutters, sitting back on her ankles in defeat. It’s going to take hours to get this zip tie off.

“Fuck you, too!” HABIT says, not even glancing back at her. He reaches the door. Autumn tries to swallow her retort, knowing it’s just going to cause more trouble, but she can’t stand the idea of him getting the last word.

“You should really be nicer to someone who makes you cum so hard,” she says just as he’s opening the door. She watches his shoulders stiffen, and he slowly turns around to face her. His smile is absolutely terrifying. He pushes the door closed again with his back and sighs, lifting his hat off his head to push his hair back. Then he starts toward her.

Five minutes later, Autumn is thrown face-first onto the couch, her ankles having been bound with bungee cord, the ziptie still forcing her wrists behind her back. She’s screaming profanities at him, hissing and spitting, but HABIT doesn’t respond. He just whistles a jaunty tune, slaps her bare ass and heads toward the door again.

She hears him say, “Later, gorgeous!” even with her face stuffed into couch cushions. Then the door slams, and she’s left in a dark living room, worse off than before.

In the end, it takes her a good hour and two pairs of scissors to get her hands free.


	7. Baby

The next day, Autumn wakes up sore and exhausted. She calls in to work, claiming illness (because what is she going to say? “Sorry I can’t come in, boss—the sex last night was too intense”?) She doesn’t let herself dwell too long on the memories, though—honestly, the only thing she can think is _wow_ —and she certainly doesn’t want to unravel her emotions concerning it—self-disgust and eagerness and happiness and dread, all rolled into one sticky mess.

Instead, Autumn slips into a tank top, rolls out of bed and half-heartedly goes about her plan of starting her protection spell.

But as she’s doing it—lighting some incense, designing a sigil, drawing a circle in chalk on her hardwood floor—she wonders if it’s even what she wants anymore. Protection from the Tall Man—yes, that’s one thing. And that honestly already might be taken care of. She hasn’t seen hide nor hair for months. But protection from HABIT?

She knows she needs it. Despite all appearances, Autumn isn’t a stupid girl. She knows this monster could turn on a dime and murder her with such ease and brutality, she probably wouldn’t even know it until she was dead.

But then she thinks of his hands. The look on his face. His eyes as he thrusts into her. The palpable connection. The fireworks. She knows he feels it, too, and she knows it bothers him. But something inside of her—that quiet voice, the one that has been with her since she was a child—tells her it will protect her. It will keep his blade from her throat unless it dies.

_Foster it_ , the voice whispers. _The connection will grow if you let it. Bond with him. Trust him._

…

Yeah. Fuck that.

There’s no way Autumn is hanging her life on some tenuous sexual attraction and a gut instinct. For the first time in her memory, she can’t imagine that voice is anything but extremely wrong. _Trust him._ Jesus fucking Christ.

Squaring her shoulders, Autumn settles down onto her knees and closes her eyes, dropping into  a meditative state and calling to mind the symbol she designed. She visualizes it, focuses every piece of herself on making it real. The energy seems to rise steeply, and with a lurch of excitement, Autumn thinks maybe her first spell will actually work. The image in her mind shimmers and solidifies, a simple sigil but a powerful one. It will stay with her and protect her, and she feels herself drawing it close, knitting it together with the energy that connects all things.

Or whatever you want to call it. Point is, Autumn is doing magick for the first. Real magick. The kind she imagines the Tall Man and HABIT might be familiar with.

And it seems to be working.

The symbol in her mind’s eye continues to crystalize, until she can practically see it hanging in the air before her. _Just a few more seconds,_ she thinks. _Just a few more seconds, and I’ll have it_ . She feels it gathering around her, around the room, around her house, growing—a protective shell, a cover. It’ll be weak compared to the Tall Man, she knows, probably too weak to do much. Like hiding under the blankets from the monster in your closet. But it _will_ do something. At the very least, it’ll give her a running start.

The image knits itself together, and Autumn is about to force it from her mind, into the world, into existence…

And then the dimensional fabric of her living room is ripped apart, and something forces itself through.

“Oh, this is too fuckin’ good!”

Autumn’s eyes snap open just before she is grabbed forcibly from behind and ripped out of the conjuration circle. The sigil image breaks and falls away, the spell fizzling. She struggles hard from sheer surprise, kicking out and jabbing her elbows back. She catches him in the gut, and HABIT wheezes then starts to laugh. His arms simply tighten around her as he wrestles her over to the couch and pushes her onto it face first.

Moving quickly, HABIT straddles her ass and forces her arms behind her, a hand on the back of her head to drive it down into the cushions. She fights it hard, as hard as she can, but he is far stronger than her.

“Hey,” he hisses, his voice almost a whisper. “Hey!” He smacks the back of her head and leans down, pressing his mouth close to her ear, his torso heavy against her. _“Stop squirmin’.”_

“Let me go!” Autumn snaps back, trying to jerk her wrists away from him. HABIT sighs heavily, reaches down and cups a large hand around her throat. Then he pulls back, and Autumn’s head is lifted forcibly off the couch, her back arched uncomfortably. It puts strain on her vocal cords, makes it harder to breathe, and reminds her very clearly how physically superior he is to her.

She stills as his mouth comes down to brush against her ear again. She’s furious. How _dare_ this fucker?! Break into her own home, interrupt a spell she worked damn hard to make happen, then trap her bodily on a couch?

“Fuck you,” she wheezes, and HABIT snickers.

“Aw, come on, gorgeous,” he says. “Is that any way to talk to me? I mean, after last night...” He whistles lowly.

“Last night?” Autumn growls. She erupts into another fit of struggling, and it must take him by surprise (or more likely, he lets her do it) because she’s able to squirm a wrist out of his grasp and reach up to grab the the hand cupping her throat. She pulls it away and rolls over. He stays sitting on her stubbornly, not moving, but she manages to get turned onto her back, so at least she’s facing him and not having her face pressed into the pillows.

He is straddling her, though, the rough crotch of his jeans centered directly over her pelvis, and when Autumn finally gets situated and stills, she sees that he is leaning back, his hands luxuriously clasped behind his head, smirking.

Another burst of fury. All her desperate squirming, and the fucker is _enjoying it._

Autumn reaches forward and hits his chest with both hands as hard as she can. He barely rocks backwards, but he does drop his arms.

_“Last night,”_ she hisses, “I seem to remember being hog-tied and left to fucking rot!”

“Well, yeah,” HABIT says, playfully exasperated. “If we’re just dwelling on the boring parts.” His look goes sly, and his hands come up to slide along her ribs and down her sides. “I seem to remember havin’ a _lotta_ _fun_ before that.” Grunting, he pulls her hips against him.

Autumn feels hot, completely distracted by his touch. It’s incredible how rapid it is, actually. A split second ago, she was pissed and scared. Now she’s nothing but ready.

Her fingers slide along the taught line of his forearm, gripping the firm skin as he leans down slowly, closer and closer, until his mouth is inches away...

Then HABIT wheezes, snickering cruelly, right into her face.

“You’re too fuckin’ easy,” he says, reiterating a point he made last night. He leans back and laughs again. “Shit, had I known it was this simple to get you to settle the fuck down and behave, I’d’ve done it months ago!”

“Why are you here?” Autumn asks, resigned, letting her hand fall from his arm and her head fall back against the sofa.

“Why am I here?” HABIT sighs, folding his arms across his chest. “Huh. _Why.”_ He snickers. “Jesus, uh, _that’s_ an interesting fucking question. _Why_ am I here? Why are _any_ of us here?” He points at her. “That’s fuckin’ deep.”

Autumn rolls her eyes. “I meant—”

_“I know what you meant, you stupid child,”_ HABIT growls in his true voice, and suddenly his hand is around her throat and he’s leaning down to sneer into her face. _“Why do you fuckin’_ **_think_ ** _I’m here?”_

“Because…” Autumn starts, hesitates, eyes flicking toward the casting circle on the ground beside them. “Because of the spell?”

“ _Because of the spell,”_ HABIT says, and shakes his head. Then he sighs and leans back, arms spread. “You _fucking_ idiot. I have this fucking house warded to _shit,_  and _you_ think it’d be fun to conjure a bunch of energy to fuck with it? What, did your little death wish finally get the better of you? Was the call of the fucking _void_ that strong?” He waves his hands around, and there’s a smile on his lips, but his eyes are furious.

Autumn, for her part, is shocked.

“You…” she says. “You put up wards?”

HABIT laughs. “Yeah. Pretty fuckin’ juicy ones, too.” He gestures around the room. “All over the place. Over there. Upstairs. Outside. What the fuck did ya think I was doing when I was here? Tidying up? Snooping?” He laughs, shaking his head. “Eh, I should’ve known. Should’ve figured you weren’t gonna be able to connect the fuckin’ dots, _feel_ them, maybe thank me for all my hard work.” He sighs. “Human senses are so fuckin’ weak.” Then a grin spreads over his lips and he leans down, bringing his face half an inch from hers. “Except, apparently, when I’ve got my tongue all over your skin. I think you’re sensing a lotta things, judging by the noises you make.”

“How about the noises _you_ make?” Autumn hisses back. HABIT pauses, confused, and she continues triumphant. “You can’t give me too much shit, HABIT. Not anymore. You _sense_ it just as much as I do. Maybe more.”

HABIT’s hand is at her throat again in an instant, and he’s baring his teeth. “ _Ya know what I think,”_ he says, voice distorted. _“I think—”_

“Mew!”

HABIT stops, turns, looks to the doorway where BInx has just padded into the room and yelled for attention in his little squeaky voice. Then the kitten trots toward them, tail pin straight, and immediately hops up onto the couch beside them. Instead of going for Autumn—his _owner,_  the one who _feeds_ him—the little traitor starts purring and butting his head against HABIT.

“Hello, tiny animal,” HABIT coos, straightening and picking the cat up. Autumn stares at him, half-bemused, half-infatuated. It’s weirdly cute, the monster’s affection for the kitten. _I honestly think he just likes cats._

“His name’s Binx,” Autumn says fondly. The look HABIT throws her is derisive.

_“Binx?”_ he says and shakes his head in disgust. “You and your stupid fucking names.” And he’s clambering off her, still cradling the cat to his chest. He sighs and tilts his head back, cracking his neck, then uses his foot to wipe away some of the magickal chalk markings she drew on the hardwood.

Autumn sits up and sighs, leaning back against the couch arm. “That was a shitload of work,” she says, motioning to the lines HABIT is destroying. He glances back at her, annoyed, and places Binx on his shoulder, where the cat balances precariously while he continues his work.

“You’re not gonna be doin’ this shit anymore,” he says, and his back is turned to her, and it’s so casual—almost off-hand—and in such an even tone, she almost feels like she’s being given the order by a boss or a teacher. Anger flares in her.

“You can’t fucking tell me what to do,” she says. And even though she’s aware she sounds like a child, she doesn’t care. She _loves_ magick. It is the best thing she’s ever found, and she’s _good_ at it.

HABIT just laughs, not even looking at her, and Binx jumps off his shoulder. “Oh yeah?”

“You can’t forbid me from accessing something like _magick,"_  she insists, standing up. “God, you always _do_ this! What are you fucking _afraid_ of?”

Autumn frowns as soon as the words are out of her mouth. She doesn’t actually know why she said them. She didn’t consciously formulate the sentences, he’s never done anything like this before, and she doesn’t really think HABIT is _afraid_ of anything. It doesn’t make any sense. She just... _spoke._

HABIT spins on her, and he has the strangest look on his face. Anger, bewilderment...sadness? She’s never seen him wearing an expression even close to this.

“I’m sorry,” she manages quickly, panicked, but he’s already closed the gap between them and he’s cupping her chin roughly and staring at her, his eyes flicking back and forth across her face as if wanting to open her up and read her secrets. But there’s...there’s _pain_ in his eyes.

“I don’t know why I said that,” she whispers.

HABIT’s expression slowly grows sly and angry again, something she’s much more used to, and he nods contemplatively. Then his brutal smile is back, and he’s patting her cheek and stepping away.

“Sure you do,” he asks, the faintest echo of distortion in his voice. “What did it _mean?"_

“I don’t know,” Autumn repeats. “Seriously, it just kind of...came out. I want to keep doing magick, but I don’t think you’re _scared_ of it. I don’t know why I said that.”

HABIT’s smile drops away and he regards her with that dark intensity again, his eyes narrowing.

“Huh,” he rasps. Autumn regards him nervously.

“What?” she asks. HABIT leans toward her a little, his expression unfathomable.

“You kinda remind me of someone,” he says, and considers. Then suddenly he’s jovial again. “Nah! No ya don’t. Forget I said anything.” He steps toward her, his voice deepening. “Autumn. You adorable fucking retard. If I find you playing around with this kinda shit _ever again_ …” His hands come up to cup her neck and he stares into her eyes for a long, silent moment. Then he laughs. “You’re gonna be so fucked!”

Autumn pulls back, irritated. “Fine. I won’t do any more protection spells.” She bites her lip, wondering how much he’ll let her get away with. “But...what about other kinds of magick?”

“Other kinds,” HABIT says dryly, turning from her to pace around the room.

“Right,” she says. “Shit that won’t fuck with your wards. Money spells. Luck spells. Curses. Shit like that.”

“Who the fuck are you gonna curse?” HABIT replies.

“I don’t know, _people,"_  Autumn says, rolling her eyes. HABIT turns back to her, contemplatively tonguing the insides of his cheeks.

“The problem with that,” he says, “Autumn, is shit like that draws...eyes, draws _attention._  You’ve already got one fucking monster after your ass—you sure you want more?”

“Why do you even care?” Autumn challenges. “Why are you so interesting in protecting me?”

HABIT lunges at her, so sudden she lets out a gasp of surprise as one of his hands curls around the back of her neck and the other arm wraps around her waist. He pulls her against him, resting their foreheads together so he can look intently into her eyes.

“ _Because you’re_ **_mine_** _,"_ he whispers in his true voice, and he pauses, considering. Then he snickers. “And I wanna keep ya around, at least until I figure out what the fuck your deal is.” His eyes flick down to her lips. “Or until I get bored. Which, to be fair, could be any fuckin’ day here. No offense. But I mean, come on. Shit this intense…” He sneers, shakes his head. “Never _lasts.”_ He pulls back slightly, hands moving to cup her face, and stares for a long moment. “Might as well make the best of it.” Then he shrugs and pulls her into a rough kiss.

Their mouths open against each other immediately, and it’s incredible how instantly that fire is stoked. Suddenly it's raging, fierce, consuming. HABIT grunts, biting her lip and pulling her hard against him. He wraps his arms around her—firm, muscular—and she stumbles into him, which makes them both chuckle. Their lips never separate. It’s a normal, oddly intimate thing, the laughter. Something she might have done with Aaron or any other guy. It’s strange.

Autumn feels a flutter in her chest for HABIT as his mouth moves against her, his soft tongue pushing between her lips, like she’s developing an actual crush on him. Later, when she thinks back on this, she’ll focus more on when she stumbled, and his mild, pleasant laughter, than anything to follow. Which is honestly pretty fucked.

It’s only a passing moment at the time, though. HABIT ramps up the energy immediately, his smile falling away, his hands going unfalteringly to her ass, then down her thighs. With a grunt muffled by her lips, he picks Autumn up, as easily as you’d pick up a ragdoll, and she immediately wraps her legs around his waist. The way their bodies move together is so fluid it almost feels choreographed. She wasn’t surprised by the action, even though he never indicated he was going to lift her off her feet until he actually did it. It was as if they’ve done this before, a hundred times. It’s probably the most graceful Autumn will be all week, actually. She’s almost surprised at herself. She’s small, but she’s never been a gymnast.

Whatever. Back to the issue at hand, here. Autumn buries her fingers in HABIT’s soft hair as his head tilts back to better reach her mouth. He’s powerful—her weight in his arms seems negligible. His breathing doesn’t even change as he begins walking them toward the stairs. His lips, tongue, and teeth never stop their fiery dance, wiping her mind so thoroughly clean she barely registers it when HABIT actually starts to carry her up the steps.

They’re halfway to the top when Autumn leans back to whisper, “Jesus, you’re strong.”

HABIT simply rolls his eyes and says, “Stop talking.” And he’s kissing her again, and they’re on the upstairs landing, and HABIT is kicking open the bedroom door, and Autumn is thrown onto her bed. HABIT pauses to watch her for a second, a thoughtful hand at his chin. Autumn, liking the pace they were working with—as fast as possible—instantly reaches down to pull off her shirt, exposing her curves and angles. Thank god she wore a cute bra.

She fully expects HABIT to come over, climb on top of her, but he stands there for a long moment. His eyebrows pop up when she takes her shirt off, and his gaze slides along her half-naked torso. Then he puts up one finger—wait—and turns around to shut the bedroom door.

“No one else lives here,” Autumn says, bemused. HABIT shrugs.

“You never know who might show up,” he replies. And before she can question this less-than-comforting response, he climbs over her, and his soft lips are covering hers.

They kiss, a wonderful tangle of tongues and teeth, and HABIT’s hips settle firmly between her thighs. Autumn’s legs once more wrap around his hips as he braces himself on one knee, the better to angle himself so they can thrust their bodies together. Autumn runs a hand over the firm curve of his back as he pauses, hunched over her, to look down at her face, his feathery blond hair falling over his eyes. And god, those eyes...There’s such darkness behind them, such intensity. They’re not human. But isn’t that what attracts her to him so thoroughly?

HABIT’s grinds into her, his firm hip bones meeting her thighs. Well. His body is _all_ human. And that attracts her too.

Moving quickly, HABIT reaches down and slides his hand against her crotch, rocking it, rubbing her until she’s gasping and grinding back into his palm. He snickers at her and spryly unbuttons her jeans. One warm, broad hand slips inside, fingers pushing her panties aside with absolutely zero ado. Not that it matters. His mouth opens against hers, smiling and teasing her lower lip with the tip of his tongue, as his middle finger finds her entrance, already wet and ready. He chuckles at that, shaking his head. She can practically hear his thoughts— _too fuckin’ easy—_ but fuck him. Eager doesn’t mean easy, and she’s not pausing to tell him that.

She lifts her hips and helps him wiggle her out of her jeans, then reaches down to run her palm against the hardness tenting his own pants. He groans, pushing against her hand, and she moves to his belt, fumbling with it, undoing it, letting it fall apart. She pushes his jeans slightly down his hips. Fuck the foreplay, right?

But now HABIT’s mouth is on her neck, open and wet, and he’s moving down, licking along her collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin spilling from her bra, kissing the velvet soft planes of her stomach. Autumn throws her head back as he moves lower, lower, until he’s nuzzling his face between her legs, and his teeth are bared, and he lets out a deep growl of contentment. Then, using both hands, he tugs her hips toward him.

Autumn fists a hand in his hair as HABIT’s mouth opens over her panties, tasting the fabric and sweat, sucking, relishing. For a moment it feels like he literally wants to eat her, like she’s this delicious meal he’s going to savor slowly. His eyes flick up and their gazes lock, and then HABIT’s tongue starts dancing against her, lush and firm. And she still has underwear on, and he’s barely doing anything, so how the hell does it feel this good?

HABIT smiles at the look on her face and focuses back on his task, his mouth moving against her panties in a perverted sort of French kiss. He shifts, forcing his shoulders under her bent knees, and sighs when her thighs cradle his head. Then his teeth nip the fabric of her underwear between them and pull them down a little. One of his hands slides up over her hip at the same time, gripping the waistband and slowly teasing them down her thigh.

The warmth of his mouth moves away during this process, his eyes focused on every inch of skin he’s revealing. Once he’s gotten them down her thighs, he lets go with his teeth and carefully helps her lift one of her legs to kick the fabric away. He smiles at her nakedness, taking a quick moment to tug his own shirt off before bracing himself on his elbows. Once more, he slings her calves across his shoulders. Autumn watches the firm, muscular line of his back, his shoulder blades flexing and protruding, as HABIT licks his lips and slowly lowers his head between her thighs again. She tenses, ready—she feels his breath, his heat. His ungodly long tongue spills out before his mouth gets there, like it’s reaching toward her of its own accord, held at bay only by smiling lips.

The very tip of HABIT’s velvety tongue brushes Autumn’s wet core, no more than a whisper of heat and wetness…

And suddenly a cell phone rings.

HABIT stiffens and lifts his head. The shrill ring sounds again, and HABIT sneers.

"Shit," he says. "Just a sec." Then he pulls back and climbs off her. Autumn sits up, confused and disappointed, as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his own phone. She’s not sure what to focus on—the annoying fact that he's apparently determined to tease the hell out of her every time, or the fact that _HABIT_ has a _cell phone._ It’s weirdly incongruous in his hands. She watches as he turns from her and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he says, and his voice...it almost makes her laugh. It’s not _his_ voice, not really—there’s no rasp, no growl. It’s higher, smoother...normal. “Oh, yeah, what’s up, Vin?”

_Vinnie,_  Autumn thinks. Evan’s friend, the guy from EverymanHYBRID. Terrible fucking timing, _Vin._

“Oh my God,” HABIT says after a second, flawlessly impersonating his vessel, Evan. He sounds nervous, excited...human. It’s unsettling. “Oh shit, are you serious?”

Vinnie responds, and HABIT throws his head back in utter annoyance. But his voice, when he responds, is shaking with something like glee. “You better not be fucking with me right now, dude. Holy shit!”

During Vinnie’s response, HABIT turns to look at Autumn, naked but for a bra on the bed, ready for him. He sneers at the phone, then shakes it aggressively at the sky in frustration before bringing it back to his ear.

“God, yeah, where are you taking her?” he asks in Evan’s voice. “St. Lukes? Okay. Okay, yeah, I’m heading out now. No, I was just running some errands. Holy shit, dude, I’m like shaking.” HABIT rolls his eyes and bends down to grab his t-shirt from the ground. It's so fucking weird to watch him do this. “Okay. Be good to her, Vin, won’t you? Be so, so good. Her bag’s in the bedroom, can you grab that?” He slides the shirt over his head as Vinnie replies. “Okay. Thanks, dude. Yeah. I’ll meet you there.”

HABIT ends the call and says, "Fucker," before he slides the phone back into his pocket. Autumn, reaching down to grab her discarded underwear, frowns at him as he buckles up his belt and pushes back his hair.

“The hell?” she asks. It’s clear he’s about to leave, and she wants an explanation.

“Fucking _Stephanie,”_ HABIT replies. He catches Autumn’s confused look and shrugs, a sudden and vicious grin lighting up his features. “Evan’s girlfriend.”

“Evan’s…” Autumn says, unsure what she’s feeling. It’s not like she’s dating Evan—not even really _dating_ HABIT, if we’re being honest—but it’s weird to suddenly realize that you are, in some way, the other woman. “Okay…”

HABIT shrugs, still smiling, and kneels onto the mattress beside her. “She’s in labor,” he says, as if Autumn should have guessed.

“ _What?”_ Autumn hisses, horrified. Here is HABIT—here is Evan’s _body—_ in bed with another girl while his _pregnant girlfriend_ is at home, going into _labor._

“Yep!” HABIT says, snickering. He swoops forward to grab her face and kiss her forcibly. Autumn shoves him off, scooting back across the bed. “Aw, c’mon, gorgeous,” HABIT says, his eyes glittering. He knows _exactly_ why she’s so upset, and he finds it fucking _hilarious._ “You should fuckin’ congratulate me! Ol’ HABIT’s gonna be a _daddy.”_

Autumn’s mouth drops open as he wheezes into laughter. She can’t even begin to find the words to express what she wants to. Horror, mostly.

“Oh, fuck,” HABIT says, standing up and wiping his eyes. “I wish I’d told you weeks ago. You should see your fucking face.” He shakes his head. “I gotta admit, though—this is a new one. That girl, Steph...She’s an absolutely _terrible_ judge of character. I mean, shit, at least _you_ know what you're fucking!” He laughs again, looking to the sky like he just can’t even believe his luck. Then he sighs and claps his hands together. “Well! Better get moving. Lotsa shit to do. Gotta get all ready. Gotta welcome a new fuckin' life into the world, right in the middle of this…” He cracks up, shaking his head. “...absolute fuckin’ _nightmare._ These crazy kids. The shit they get up to, I mean, fucking _really_ ? A _baby?_ ” He snickers, then sighs, his shoulders slumping as he watches Autumn with a wide grin.

“I…” Autumn starts, but the words fade into numb, echoing disbelief. This revelation casts an awful pallor of reality over this situation. She can no longer divorce HABIT from his vessel and the life he is currently ruining. And it’s not like she loves kids or anything, but the thought of this monster near a baby is utterly bone-chilling.

“Better run!” HABIT says cheerfully. Then his eyes slide over her, and his face grows somber. “It’s too fuckin’ bad, honestly. I was gonna show you a hell of a time.” He tilts his head as Autumn looks away from him, burning with shame. Is it _his_ kid, she wonders? When the baby was conceived, who was with Steph? HABIT or Evan? The very question is utterly disgusting.

“I know you’re disappointed,” HABIT says blithely, chuckling. “But I’ll be back. Sometime.” He shrugs. “Whenever.” Then he’s turning away and wrenching open the door and heading out into the hallway. “Miss ya already!” he says. And he’s almost out of sight, but then he suddenly spins around and points at her. His face has gone dead-serious. “And no more fuckin’ magick, okay?” Autumn meets his gaze. She totally forgot about that. It seems like nothing in light of this.

At her silence, HABIT’s look grows dangerous, and he steps back into the room. Fear blooms in her chest.

“Okay,” she says, and his vicious smile is back.

“Okay!” he replies. “Holdin’ ya to that. Knowing fucking _Steph,_ I’ll be out of contact for a couple weeks. Which is a real fuckin’ shame. She’s so _needy.”_

“She’s having your fucking _baby,”_ Autumn replies acidically, though she’s not sure why she’s so offended by HABIT’s scorn of this poor pregnant girl and her child. She’s not sure why she expects better of him.

“Yeah!” HABIT laughs. “That's right, she really fuckin' is. Which, now that you mention it, I’d better get going, better...show up. Much as I’d like to stick around…” For a second, his eyes go lidded, and he scrutinizes Autumn, and he looks like he’s actually considering it. “How fucked would that be? Sorry I missed the birth, honey, I was doing really bad things to another girl…” He grins. “You think I could get away with it?”

“Fuck off,” Autumn says, but her lip twitches, and she might be a bad person, but she’s amused. But she’s not going to allow him to come back to her.

HABIT squints at her, sucking his teeth, then shrugs. “You should congratulate me,” he says, pointing at her. Autumn simply glares, so HABIT paces toward her. “Say, ‘Congratulations, HABIT.’”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asks instead. And, as is becoming common, he lets her get away with it.

“You’re right,” he says, and chuckles again. “A fuckin’ _baby.”_  Shaking his head, he heads back toward the hallway, only spouting one last, “Later, gorgeous!” before disappearing.

Autumn takes a deep breath and falls back into her pillows.

_What_ the _fuck._


	8. A New Mattress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Presenting! Mama Emeritus the Third’s New Segment: Learning is Fun!
> 
> Fun fact: The title of this story is a reference to the EverymanHYBRID video “:D” in which HABIT murders the shit out of Jeff. Remember that? With the little yellow chair? Oh man. Good times.
> 
> Another fun fact: The sex is not going anywhere. I warned you about it at the very beginning. That’s, like, 50% of the reason I’m writing this piece of shit, and I never said otherwise. So if you have an issue with it, I love you, but get out.
> 
> Not-so-fun fact: I have writing gigs with deadlines coming up very soon, and I’m pretty busy with them. Which is the main reason for the lengthy pauses between updates here. Sorry babies, but mama’s gotta get paid. Trust me, I’d much rather be writing erotic fanfiction for you, my sweet little demons.
> 
> Final fun fact: Lucifer, our immaculate prince of darkness, is watching over you all. Never doubt that. Place your trust in him, and ye shall want for nothing.

HABIT’s right. There’s neither hide nor hair of him for the next couple months.

Well. That’s fine. Hopefully the birth went okay. Hopefully he and Stephanie are all snuggled up with their new, precious little gift to the world

Autumn gets in a really weird mental state about all of it. It feels like melancholic, self-contained mania. She cleans obsessively. Smokes a lot of cigarettes. Talks to herself. She can’t get the image of HABIT and Stephanie smiling at each other, the baby in his arms, out of her head. It almost makes her want to laugh, it’s so horrible. And after a while, she’s disgusted to realize she’s feeling _jealous_. _Jealous_ of _Stephanie!_ How fucked up is that? Autumn doesn’t even know the girl! She doesn’t even _want_ kids!

It’s the idea of the domesticity. That’s what she’s jealous of. The two of them together, cozy and content. How happy Stephanie must be. Because even if he’s just pretending to be good, it’s still HABIT. At least some of the time. His true personality, the nice parts, probably come through. His sense of humor. His knife-sharp wit. His intelligence. His competence. (His hands, his tongue, you get the fucking picture.)

It’s almost Halloween. It’s almost a year to the day Aaron died. Seven months since meeting HABIT. Autumn honestly can’t believe what her life has become.

Every day he doesn’t show up at her doorstep, the jealousy gets worse. Like, the kid is almost two months old now. He can’t be _that_ much work anymore. It must be the girl. What’s so special about fucking _Stephanie?_ If HABIT really wanted to, he’d make time to break away. If he actually enjoyed Autumn’s company, even a little.

It’s getting harder to tell herself it isn’t just about the sex for him. Because of course it is! And why would she want anything more? Why would she want HABIT to have any sort of feelings toward her besides carnal lust? Does she actually expect him to drop by because he misses her? Not her body, just _her?_ Does she actually think he wants someone to talk to, just because she does?

God. She’s such an idiot.

Autumn decides she needs to get out of the house. Having no friends makes it hard to justify going out when she’s not at work, but maybe it’ll help. It’s a lovely October day. Autumn decides to go do some window shopping at the nearby strip mall.

She wraps herself in a knee-length black trench coat and grabs an umbrella in case the gray sky does what it’s been threatening all week. Then, feeling like a goth Mary Poppins, Autumn jams in her headphones and heads out the door.

She’s been riding her bike everywhere since her car started making a weird rattling noise. It’s gonna be a nightmare in the winter, but it’s okay for now. It’s got a basket on the back in case she ends up buying anything, and focusing on riding it keeps her mind on the task at hand. Harder to drift back into her head, thinking of HABIT.

About halfway to the shopping center, Autumn passes the local park. It’s large, green and deserted today, with plenty of wooded trails for people to get lost on. Making a split-second decision, Autumn turns into the gravel lot and chains up her bike at the fence. A walk in the park. She literally hasn’t done that since her parents were alive.

She wanders the large grassy field for a while before heading onto the wooded trail. It’s peaceful and picturesque between the trees. After a while, she sits down on a bench beside the trail, content in basking in the beautiful fall scenery.

She still has her headphones in, so she doesn’t notice the group of people coming up the path beside her until they’re only a few yards away. There are three of them, two men and a woman wearing some kind of weird harness on her chest. One of the men has his arm around the woman’s shoulder.

Autumn stiffens when they pass by and she gets a better look at them. She recognizes the harness the woman is wearing as a baby sling, a sleeping infant tucked inside. The woman is short and unremarkable, wearing glasses and a fucking Jack Skellington hoodie (like, are we in high school?) The taller man is dark haired and classically handsome, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. And the fucker with his arm so casually and intimately slung over the woman’s shoulder? The one wearing a faded plaid jacket and a black t-shirt?

You guessed it!

What are the fucking chances? She honestly can’t believe how bad her luck is.

Autumn waits for them to pass, her eyes lowered. She’s not even sure that’s really HABIT—it could easily be Evan—and she doesn’t want anything close to an interaction. She recognizes the taller guy as Jeff from EMH. The three of them are chatting easily, and they barely glance at her as they walk by. As soon as their backs are to her, Autumn looks up to watch them go. Just as she’s doing it, HABIT looks back over his shoulder—the shoulder attached to the arm wrapped around his baby mama—and meets her eye. And she knows it’s HABIT now because he grins that sharp, crooked grin.

Autumn flips him off, which makes him snort and look away. The woman, who can only be Stephanie, turns to him, then glances back at Autumn, who she examines carefully for a lingering moment. Luckily, Autumn puts her finger down in time.

The group turns down a path, heading back toward the field and the playground. They disappear between the trees.

Autumn waits a long time before standing up. She’s not sure what she’s feeling. What she’s supposed to be feeling. She just knows she wants to go home.

The path she’s on will take her through the woods to the parking lot, bypassing the playground in case the group is still there. She wants to make a clean escape and pretend she never saw them.

She’s only a few yards down the trail when someone comes through the trees ahead of her. She recognizes HABIT instantly. He’s alone now, and he’s making a beeline for her. Immediately, Autumn spins around and starts speed-walking in the opposite direction. She does it without thinking—it’s a half-assed attempt to escape this interaction, and it makes him laugh. She knows he’s going to catch up, but she still makes him chase her.

“Are you...running away from me?” he says from behind her, his voice distorted with laughter. Autumn just picks up her pace. “You're actually fuckin' running away from me.” He wheezes his amusement. "That's cute. That's real cute." She hears him start jogging to catch up.

It’s futile. She’s not actually going to get away. She slows to a stop before she even feels his hand close around her arm. She’s horrified to feel like she might actually start crying, but this is all so _weird_ and _stressful_ and she _hates it._

“Hey, gorgeous,” HABIT rasps into her ear, his teeth bared in that vicious grin of his. He tugs her back against him from behind, pressing firmly, his hands running over her body. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Get away from me,” Autumn hisses back, trying to replace sadness and confusion with anger. HABIT snickers. One firm hand moves up to cup her throat, tilting her head back as he inhales gruffly. There’s no mistaking his predatory energy right now, masculine and wolfish and filled with sex. Autumn glances around nervously. They’re right in the middle of the path, exposed, with Evan’s friends only a few yards away, and he feels like he’s ready to literally tear her clothes off.

“Nope,” HABIT snickers. His hand tightens at her neck. “Nah, I'm not gonna do that, Autumn. I…” There’s something dangerous and lascivious in his tone that makes her shiver, and then he buries his nose in her hair. She imagines sharp teeth, dripping maws. Like he could eat her.

“I missed ya,” he rasps into her neck.

Goosebumps erupt up and down her spine, but she squares her shoulders and manages a weakly sarcastic, “Yay.” Then, as he grins and aims a playful bite at her neck, she says, “Congratulations. With the...baby and everything.”

HABIT stiffens, and his grip relaxes enough that she is able to turn around to face him. His hands go unwaveringly to her hips, holding her there with authority. Like she’d dare to run now that he has her cornered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, sneering. Then he sighs and musters up some painfully-false enthusiasm. “It’s a girl!” His smile is short lived, though. “Actually, fuck that." He leans forward quickly, like he’s about to tell her an exciting secret. “I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind here, gorgeous. I mean, I’m about to fuckin’...” HABIT makes a gun gesture by his temple and an explosion noise in the back of his throat. “Those people…” He points aggressively toward the playground, toward Evan’s friends. Then he drops his arm, an expression of such deep hatred on his face, it almost frightens her. “Those fucking people…” He shakes his head, and his gray eyes return to her. And suddenly he’s grinning again. He sidles closer, closing the already-tiny gap between them. “But now I’m here with you! Now we’re good. We’re fucking excellent.”

There’s something in his gaze. A spark. He’s more manic today than she’s used to. He’s practically vibrating. Could he actually be excited to see her?

“And let me tell ya, Autumn,” he says, his gaze roaming up and down her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know?” He tilts his head back, cracking his spine before returning his attention to her. “Good enough to fuckin’ _eat.”_

“That’s not horrifying,” Autumn replies sarcastically, trying to push him away. HABIT simply tightens his grip.

“Yeah,” he says. “You know something I like about you? You don’t bore me.” He thinks for a second, shrugs, a laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Yet. You probably will, at some point. That’s _also_ probably around when, you know, when you’re gonna die. But—but you _haven’t_ yet, and that’s the point.  I fucking _despise_ being bored, Autumn. Being...static. _Unchanging._ And when I’m with those _fucking people_ …” He shakes his head, then closes his eyes and rests his forehead on her shoulder as if in the greatest pain man has ever known. “It’s just the same thing. Over and over! It never ends! And I am so. Fucking. _Bored.”_

“My heart bleeds for you,” Autumn says, making it as clear as she can that it doesn’t.

But HABIT ignores the sarcasm, the feeble attempts to squirm out of his grasp. Instead, he growls at her, pulling her more tightly against his frame and pressing his face close to her ear.

“This, though. This is a lot of things." He laughs. "But it isn’t boring!”

HABIT’s teeth nip at her earlobe, clicking against the earring she wears, and his hands meander down to her ass.

“You should come to my place,” Autumn gasps, every semblance of strength leaving her as HABIT’s hands fill themselves with her flesh and squeeze.

“You read my mind,” HABIT says. Then, abruptly, he pulls back to look at her. “Have you ever had a fucking baby before?”

“No, HABIT,” Autumn says. “I haven’t.”

“Well, they fucking suck,” he says. Autumn snorts, and HABIT’s perfect mouth splits into his vicious grin, and then he’s kissing her. And it’s everything she remembers. And in that moment she’s sure he’s wrong. This will never get boring. This will never get old. They could go on kissing into eternity, and they still wouldn’t be able to get enough.

“Evan!”

Stephanie's voice comes from a distance, through the trees. Autumn immediately tries to move away from HABIT to look around, but he pulls her back into the kiss, having clearly deduced that the other woman can’t see them. Yet.

“Evan?” her voice comes again. “Where are you?”

“HABIT,” Autumn whispers, ripping away from his greedy lips. “Answer her.”

“No,” HABIT says, and it’s almost a whine. He’s pretending to pout, trying to play the fury he must be feeling off as a joke. But Autumn can feel anger rolling off of him in thick, hot waves. Those eyes...There’s such _rage_ in those eyes.

“HABIT,” Autumn says again. And he bares his teeth and rolls his eyes and finally steps back from her. She expects—hopes—that he will simply walk away, go to the mother of his child and leave her in peace.

Instead he slings a muscular arm around her shoulders and squeezes jovially, then yells in his “Evan” voice, “Steph! Over here, honey!”

And Autumn isn’t sure why she ever thought he wouldn’t.

He keeps his arm around her even as Stephanie comes through the trees on the path from the playground, their child strapped to her chest.

“I want you to meet someone,” HABIT says. The other girl approaches them, a skeptical look on her face as she examines the two of them.

Autumn suddenly feels a deep pity for Stephanie. She sees the love in her eyes when she looks at HABIT _(Evan). T_ he protective way she cradles the baby in its sling. The suspicion when her eyes flick over Autumn.

Now, let’s not fuck around here. I know we don’t talk about the way Autumn looks very much, but she’s striking. Pale skin, large eyes and the shade of hair you can only get from  bottles marked Black No. 1. And it’s not like it’s effortless. She’s spent hundreds of dollars on tattoos and makeup, and she goes through eyeliner and dark lipstick like no one’s business. But she’s proud of her style. She rocks the goth/witch/rocker chick vibe, and she’s aware of how attractive she is to a certain brand of gentleman. She’s small, barely over 5 foot, so she’s had to dress tough to survive. But she also happens to like her style. And anyway, it’s not like her attractiveness makes her a great human. She’s got more than enough flaws to make up for it.

But all this is to say, when I mention that Autumn recognizes jealousy in Stephanie’s eyes, it’s not because she’s imagining it. Stephanie is a pretty girl. Beautiful, even. But Autumn’s got a _look._

“Hi,” Stephanie says, a question in her tone, glancing at HABIT.

“Hello,” Autumn replies with an awkward little wave. HABIT still has his arm around her shoulder, and he’s grinning like mad.

“This is Autumn,” HABIT says. His voice is so foreign to her when he pretends to be Evan. There’s no rasp, no growl. He sounds less like Beetlejuice and more like a real person. “She’s an old friend from high school. I thought I recognized her when we were walking by, so I came over to check.” He laughs easily. “Once I remembered her name.”

Autumn elbows his side, forcing on a smile, and finally pulls away from him.

“We sat next to each other in English for, like, three years,” she improvises. “If you actually forgot my name, you’d have the worst memory on the planet.”

Stephanie finally smiles, put at ease by the banter.

“He does,” she says. “A couple days ago, he still thought it was August.”

Autumn glances at HABIT, who shrugs good-naturedly as Stephanie comes over to him. He slings an arm around her and rests his chin on top of her head. Only once she can’t see his face, HABIT rolls his eyes at Autumn.

“That’s Evan,” Autumn says, trying to sound genuinely cheerful. “Total airhead.”

“Hey, he’s standing right here,” HABIT replies, and he and Stephanie laugh, so Autumn pretends to laugh along.

HABIT won’t take his eyes off Autumn, and it’s making her feel uncomfortable with Stephanie there, so she tries to divert attention.

“Is that a baby?” she asks, pointing at the sling on Stephanie’s chest.

“Oh, shit!” HABIT says. “Hell yeah it is! You wanna meet her?”

“She’s yours?” Autumn says, gingerly stepping toward the other woman, who is currently loosening the sling to see the baby. And suddenly she realizes she doesn’t want to meet this kid. She really, really doesn’t.

“All ours,” HABIT says jovially, squeezing his girlfriend, who is beaming proudly. And there’s such pride in HABIT’s voice, such joy, but his face is flat and blank whenever his girlfriend isn’t looking. It’s horrible.

Steeling herself, Autumn looks down to see a sleeping infant, perfect in its pinkness and cuteness.

“Aw,” she says weakly, backing away a little too quickly. Suddenly, she feels overwhelmingly nauseous. She’s fairly sure a pale wash just dropped over her face, but hopefully Stephanie won’t notice. As it is, she needs to make an escape. Now.

“Well, I should probably go,” she says, before they can tell her the baby’s name or give her any other details about it. “I have a...thing.” She’s backing away now, because she might actually puke on them if she doesn’t. “Nice to meet you, Stephanie.” Shit, did HABIT actually tell her his girlfriend’s name at any point? She doesn’t think so. Shit. Just keep backing away. “Nice to see you again, HAB—Evan.” Shit. Shit shit shit. Autumn trips over her own feet and stumbles for a second before regaining balance. Stephanie is looking at her, bemused. HABIT looks like he’s barely containing his laughter.  “We should all get together sometime. Okay? Okay. Bye.” Autumn turns around to run...and walks straight into the tall guy who was with them earlier. Jeff.

“Oh,” he says, his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Autumn mumbles, immediately pulling back. She brushes past him as fast as she can. “Excuse me.” Then she’s power-walking away, and she realizes how awkward this must be, so she calls back one final, “Bye!” over her shoulder. And she hears HABIT snort, but by then she’s already left them behind.

* * *

 

By the time Autumn gets home, she’s shaking. Seeing that baby—all pink and tiny and... _real._ It was bone-chilling. Fathered by a literal monster, living in the same house…

She can’t even think about it. Jesus, poor Stephanie!

Autumn hates herself. She really does. She’s weak and horrible, and HABIT is a monster.

 _But hey,_ that devilish voice at the back of her head whispers. _Any time he’s here with you, at least you know he’s not currently murdering his child and its mother. So...he should probably be over here a lot, right? That way you can, you know, keep an eye on him._

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” Autumn mutters to herself.

 _Gladly,_ Satan whispers back, winking. Autumn groans and flops onto her couch. This is so stupid. She needs to get drunk and forget that she’s a terrible person.

So she does.

* * *

 

Four hours later, Autumn’s most of the way through two bottles of wine and fully planning to start on a third. And honestly, she feels great. She’s curled up with Binx and a good horror movie, and she’s forgotten to feel bad about herself.

Inevitably, Autumn’s head begins to nod, and she slowly slides down into a more comfortable position against the arm of the couch. She bundles the kitten to her chest and cradles the half-empty bottle of wine in the crook of her arm. Then she slowly drifts off into unconsciousness.

A bit later, Binx jumps out of her arms and goes padding off in the direction of the kitchen, which half-wakes her. Mumbling sleepily to herself, Autumn simply places the wine bottle on the ground and curls up to let sleep take her again.

When next she gains an ounce of consciousness, she’s vaguely aware of some noises in the hallway, but she doesn’t think much of it. She’s too drunk, too tired, and it’s probably just Binx. She falls asleep again, just as the hallway light flicks on.

Wait.

Suddenly, she’s _wide_ awake. Her head is spinning, but she pushes herself upright to look toward where the corridor to the front hall is now illuminated in a soft orange glow. Noises are coming from over there—someone’s moving around, grunting, dragging something heavy. Slowly, drunkenly, Autumn stands up and grabs the lamp from the side table, pulling the plug from the socket as she sways toward the hallway. She’s strangely void of fear. She assumes she’s being robbed, but she has to deal on a regular basis with literal monsters. She can handle a fucking burglar.

 _What if he has a gun?_ The sober portion of her brain whispers anxiously. But that portion is absolutely drowned out by the drunken majority screaming, _Let’s get this motherfucker!!_

Autumn sneaks down the hall with her improvised weapon in hand, slowly rounding the corner to see a man wrestling with, of all things, a mattress.

 _Is he stealing my bed?_ That seems random. She has a TV up in her bedroom. You’d think he’d go for that first.

The thief’s back is to her as he drags the mattress across the floor. He hasn’t noticed her yet, and Autumn uses that to her advantage. She races toward him, lamp raised over her head, and smashes it against his back.

“Fucker!”

It hits hard—the sturdy ceramic shatters against him. He hunches his back against it, stopping in his tracks. For a moment, Autumn stands there, swaying and confused. It didn’t knock him down. It should have. _Why_ didn’t it knock him down?

Then he turns slightly to look over his shoulder, back hunched and eyes furious, and she realizes why.

“HABIT,” she says, hands flying up to her mouth in drunken horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” But even as she’s saying it, she’s starting to giggle. “I thought you were stealing my bed.” And it’s all striking her as a little hilarious right now, so Autumn just claps her hand over her mouth and giggles into it as HABIT brushes ceramic dust from his hair.

“You thought I was _what?”_ he asks, tilting his head at her as he turns fully around. “Stealing your fucking _bed?”_

“Well…” Autumn says, and gestures helplessly at the mattress he’s still holding. He finally lets it drop to the groundand settle at the base of her stairs.

HABIT steps toward her, head tilted down, his lips drawn up over his teeth in a silent growl. Autumn takes a startled step back at the rage in his eyes, bumping into the wall behind her.

“Sorry,” she manages again. He inhales deeply, sniffing the air for her scent. And suddenly, so suddenly it’s like a switch is flipped, he’s grinning widely, and he leans back, spreading his arms.

“ _Have you been drinkin’?”_ he asks, amused, his voice fully distorted.

“Uh…” Autumn says, confused by the sudden line of questioning.

“ _Yeah,”_ HABIT replies. “ _You have been, haven’t you?”_ He drops his arms and snickers, shaking his head. “ _You’re fuckin’ wasted.”_

“So?” Autumn replies, folding her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Not  _expecting?”_ HABIT asks, taking another step closer, his tone still light and falsely congenial. But Autumn can tell, even through the boozy haze, that his intentions are not good. “We had _plans,_ Autumn. You _invited_ me.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says, and she can’t keep the scorn from her voice. Every one of her defenses are down, and she’s never been the most subtle drunk anyway. “I thought you were busy with your _baby_ and your _girlfriend.”_

HABIT’s on her in an instant, forcing her back against the wall with his body, bracing his arms beside her head.

“Are you _jealous?”_ he asks, snickering, and Autumn shakes her head, but he doesn’t buy it. “Holy shit, you _are,_ aren’t you?” He pulls back and regards her, tilting his head with an expression of pity. “Aw, Autumn.” He grins, bringing his face close to hers. “ _Whaddya want me to do, huh? You want—you want me to kill ‘em?”_

“N—no,” Autumn stutters, shivering as HABIT’s lips brush her ear.

“ _Aw, yeah you do,”_ HABIT whispers in his demonic growl. “ _Say the word, gorgeous. I’ll rip out their hearts and bring you their livers.”_

“Jesus, HABIT,” Autumn says, and she can’t believe how scared she sounds, how breathless. Suddenly, so fast she can barely register it, HABIT lifts her up by her thighs, pushes her back against the wall and forcibly wraps her legs around his waist. He grunts, pushing himself against her, and she gasps when she meets his eyes. The pupils are huge, fully black. In this moment, he barely looks human.

“ _I will,”_ he growls, laying open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “ _Soon. I’ll kill ‘em just for you.”_ His hands grip at her thighs, run up her legs to her ass. He snickers. “Then we can have all the time we want.”

“Don’t kill your baby,” Autumn whispers, her head falling back of its own accord as one of HABIT’s hands comes up to bury itself in her hair. The awfulness of her own words, the reality of what she’s discussing, just really isn’t penetrating the lusty, drunken cloud now enveloping her brain. She almost says it like a joke.

“Don’t say that,” HABIT replies. He pulls back, looking abruptly manic. “I wasn’t lyin’ before. When I said I missed you.” He leans forward again and buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. “I did.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Shit’s just gettin’ weirder. I _thought_ about you. Fuckin’ _craved_ you.”

“Me too,” Autumn whispers, leaning down to kiss him again. Their lips meet, and for a few seconds it is soft, somehow...gentle. Nice.

Then HABIT starts snickering, and his kiss grows rough, and he yanks her hair back in his fist. Their lips separate, and he’s grinning wickedly.

“Well, aren’t we just the cutest fuckin’ couple,” he sneers. Still holding her in his arms, he spins them and deposits her roughly on the mattress on the floor beside them. Autumn bounces down, staring up at him, wondering what he’ll do next.

HABIT drops to his knees on the mattress by her feet in one swift motion-- _whump_. He’s barefoot, she notices for the first time, and she wonders where his shoes are. But as he leans forward to brace himself on his hands, her gaze is distracted by his powerful biceps. Those perfect shoulders beneath the thin t-shirt he wears. Autumn shivers, just looking at him, suddenly very ready to feel his weight against her. He's grinning at her, that sharp, crooked grin.

One of his warm, broad hands shoots out and wraps loosely around her throat, pushing her back down against the mattress. Autumn’s fingers curl against the thin sheet fitted around it. He moves over her, and she can feel the heat radiating from his firm torso, roped with muscle and so touchable...but a sudden thought is filling her swimming head, distracting her.

“Why’d you bring this thing here?” she asks, turning her head from where he was just leaning down to kiss her. She hears him sigh, and he rocks back onto his heels.

“Fucking drunk..." he mutters, closing his eyes briefly in annoyance. Then, as if addressing a particularly stupid child, he says, "Bring what _where?”_

“This mattress,” Autumn replies. “I already have one.”

HABIT’s eyebrows raise, a look of false surprise, and he pushes a hand through his hair, looking around with wide eyes.

“Oh shit,” he says, his voice light and vapid. “You _do?_  Well, gosh, mypresent is ruined.” He bounces a little on his knees. "What a disappointment."

Autumn shoots him a flat look, which is pretty impressive given how drunk she is. “Seriously,” she says.

“I don’t know, Autumn,” HABIT sighs, rolling his eyes. “What could we _possibly_ need another mattress for?”

“Are you planning on inviting guests over or something?” Autumn says, and her mind is whirring too slowly to really grasp this—what this means, how horrible the implications might be. She’s just confused, honestly.

“Bam! Correct!” HABIT says, pointing at her. He laughs. “Hit the nail right on the head, there. Excellent.”

“No, wait,” Autumn says, frowning and sitting up. “You’re not bringing people here. This is my house.”

HABIT’s amused smile melts away into a sneer, and he stares at her, his head tilted.  His eyes close briefly, a look of irritation flickering across his face.

“Honestly, Autumn,” he says, his voice scarily reasonable, “I’d like to see you stop me.” He maintains eye contact for a few eternal seconds before his smile snaps back on. “We good? We clear?”

“But...why here?” Autumn says. HABIT sighs, long suffering, and seems to realize that she’s not interested in christening the mattress anymore. He begins to stand, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Why _not?”_ he says. “This place is as good as any other place. Maybe better. See, I don't know if you've worked this out, Autumn, but none of the fuckers _I’m_ dealing with now...None of those...little fishes even have the  _slightest_  idea where the fuck it is." He snickers. "Plus, hey, thanks to yours truly, its warded as shit. Nothing’s gonna come here. Nothing’s gonna come...slitherin’ in, fuckin’ up our day. This house…” HABIT places a hand on the wall beside him, looking around with an expression of satisfaction. “This house is, you could say, halfway between worlds. Which makes it invisible to both.” He turns to her, grinning. “Get it?”

“No,” Autumn says, frowning at him. “Not really.” HABIT snickers.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies. He laughs again. “Yeah. Whether or not _you_ understand... _anything_ is, honestly, the least of my fuckin’ concerns.”

“Uh, well,” Autumn says, getting annoyed with his stupid attitude and his stupid smirk. “Actually, _HABIT,_ when it’s happening in my house, it _is_ your fucking _concern.”_ Autumn stands up during her speech, balancing shakily on the soft mattress. HABIT’s eyebrows raise, and he looks at her with mild surprise.

“Okay,” he says, and he sounds resigned. Then he reaches out, and before she can react his hand is gripping her upper arm, and she’s being dragged toward him, spun around and thrown against the wall.

It all happens so fast, Autumn doesn’t even realize what happened until she’s sitting on the floor, her head aching a little where it smacked the wall behind her. HABIT, his face scarily impassive, is standing above her, staring at her with the kind of calculating look a butcher would give a cow carcass. When their gazes lock, though, he grins. And that’s even scarier.

Smoothly, HABIT drops to his haunches in front of her, grabs her throat again (tighter this time) and brings his face very close to hers.

“ _Sometimes I get the feelin’ you think you're...safe,"_ he says softly, his voice fully distorted. " _And--and maybe y_ _er gettin' too fuckin’ cozy._ ” He shifts on his haunches, getting comfortable. _“And that’s just…”_ He snickers. _“That’s just fuckin’_ **_retarded._ ** _So let me take this opportunity to teach you. To_ **_remind_ ** _you, Autumn. To drive it into your gray matter. Who you’re_ **_dealin’_ ** _with here.”_ His hand reaches back to his belt and withdraws his long, vicious bowie knife from the sheath there. Smiling, he brings it between them, showing her the blade. He watches her eyes, drinking in the fear he sees there. And she sees how much he loves it. _“Because you have to remember—I’m a fuckin’_ **_monster_ ** _.”_

It feels like a kick in the gut. And Autumn realizes how much trust she’d actually placed in him. As HABIT leans toward her with the knife, her drunken brain finally grasps that she is, in fact, a fucking idiot.

Her mind empties, leaving room for nothing more than pure and simple fear, as the blade of the knife whispers against her throat. It’s foolish, she knows, to think he’s just trying to intimidate her. To think he won’t slit her throat and shower in the spray of blood from her arteries. She hopes he won’t, maybe even _thought_ he wouldn’t. But of course he would.

“If you do this, you’ll never know.”

Autumn hears the female voice in the room, watches HABIT go stock still, the blade of the knife centimeters from slicing into her neck.

“If you kill me, there goes your chance.” HABIT’s eyes are locked onto hers, the closest thing to genuine surprise shining in them. And though she can hear the voice, it takes her  a long moment to realize it’s _her,_ Autumn, who is speaking. But there’s no drunken slur, no frightened waver. She’s not consciously forming the sentences.

_These aren’t my words._

“You’ll never figure it out,” her mouth continues, though she doesn’t know where the words are coming from.  “Why it feels like this.” Her lips curve of their own accord into a sly smile, though she doesn’t feel amused or confident. “Not without me. Not if I’m dead.”

HABIT’s just staring at her, pale and furious, more intense now than she’s ever seen him.

“ _What?”_ he hisses.

“If you kill me, it’ll bother you for the rest of your miserable existence, won’t it?” Autumn (but _not_ Autumn) says. “Because, as you said, you’re a monster. You’re not _supposed_ to react to humans the way you react to me. But you _do._  And if you kill me, you’ll never know why. And I promise you, HABIT. You’ll never find someone like _me_ again.”

 _“Do you know_ **_why_** _?”_ HABIT growls, and there’s a sincerity in his tone she’s never heard before. His eyes are wide, wild. Intense. _“If you know…”_

Autumn is silent for a long moment, waiting for that voice to respond. But it doesn’t. And when HABIT’s fingers tighten spasmodically around her throat, and he leans toward her, she finds she has to answer herself. The voice, whatever it was, is gone.

“No,” she whispers, hearing the slur return to her voice. “No, I honestly have no idea.”

HABIT stares into her eyes, a look of immense fury crossing his face. His pupils are tiny, flicking back and forth between her eyes. And then he grins, but it’s a terrifying grin, and his eyes are still angry. He pushes her backwards, making her head thump against the wall again. He rises to his feet and stands before her, baring his teeth, his shoulders hunched. Like a wolf ready to pounce.

He points the knife at Autumn, seemingly about to say something. Then his shoulders slump. He throws his head back and shakes his head, a low chuckle rumbling through him.

“Not even fuckin’ worth it,” he says, and he’s turning away from her now, heading to the front door. He wrenches it open, pausing only momentarily to look back at her. He snickers and shakes his head again. “I don’t know how you do it, gorgeous. But you just got _so_ fuckin’ lucky.”

And then he’s gone, into the night, leaving her door wide open.


End file.
